


The Loyalty of Hobbits

by NiteOwlNest



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Battle Scenes, Blood, Dwarf/Hobbit Relationship(s), F/M, Feels, Female Hobbit Still Kicking Butt, Friendship, Heartbreak, Humor, Misunderstandings, Mostly Everyone Lives, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Romance, Sexual Content, Threats of torture, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 121,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteOwlNest/pseuds/NiteOwlNest
Summary: *Sequel to "The Service of Hobbits"* -must read that first-Cori Houndberry still hasn't reached home, though she thinks she's found it. Until she gets there. She has to question her desires, weigh her options, and try not to let a few narrow-minded people get in the way. Thorin Oakenshield is still the most incredible thing that has ever happened to her, but can she truly let herself have him?





	1. Still At Service

“Ack! Getting tulip fingers on a damn plank!”

The curse echoed loudly against the rolling hills nearby, much more abruptly than had been originally intended. Yet, one could not trade in the satisfaction.

Coronilla Houndberry frowned at the offending barb sticking out of the base of her finger. Carefully, she lifted her other hand to it and plucked it out before something else could push it deeper. Her other fingers brushed away the rest of the smaller, shallower darts, and she sat back on her heels with a sigh. The one moment she chose to grab a piece of wood without using her gloves to add to another stack, and the thing decided to bite back. Probably very offended by no longer standing upright and tall, giving more life to the forest, but could it not understand how special its new occupation would be? It would house the next generations of peoples who would care for its descendants.

“You all right there, Miss Cori?”

The dark-haired hobbit turned to the face of the young Man sticking out from the other side of the half-finished house, a sweaty brow quirked above amused eyes.

“Do you happen to know where the saw is? I’m feeling a mite spiteful today.” She tossed the plank into the pile it was originally supposed to go in, checking the sky.

“No, but I know where a good mug of ale is, and I’m getting a hankering for it.”

She giggled, agreeing that the lowering angle of the sun was the perfect signal to call it a day. The fewer the houses they had left to rebuild, the quicker they could retire in the evening; gone were the month of building by lantern, long after the light of day had waned entirely. She stared at the progress they had accomplished so far: the wood frame of the smial was almost up completely, and walls inside could soon be put up. She had no idea who it would go to after it was finished, though the location was prime and may capture the attention of one of the Brandybucks looking to be out of the great smials of Brandy Hall sitting just to the northwest of them. But, then again, they liked to remain together, and certainly now more than ever.

“Out of all the things I thought I’d be doing when joining the Rangers,” Darad, son of Torad, said, wiping a towel down the front of his face, “I never would’ve guessed my first task would be building houses for the Little Folk.”

“You’re to serve the Free Peoples of Middle-earth now,” she replied with a smirk. “It’s one of your duties. Civil service and all that. Didn’t think you’d be fighting orcs from sunrise to sundown, did you?”

“I really hoped I wouldn’t.”

This kind of work seemed to suit the boy best out of anything his new position would require of him, so Cori would not have been surprised if he told her he would remain a part of the permanent guard along the borders of the Shire. He seemed to really be fond of hobbits, too, and she truly liked him. When she learned that he had not only escaped restitution for his part in the terrorism of Ryone of Rohan toward Eriador, but also found a place amongst the Rangers of the North, she was relieved. Often she thought of that lad she spared in the woods surrounding the Battle Out of Oatbarton; now she saw him almost every other week, when he was given leave to help in reconstruction.

Cori packed up her belongings. She waved to the other workers nearby, hammering away on their own houses, as she gathered her pony and Darad’s light bay from the field nearby. Shadow, her stalwart little grey, stood still as she tacked him up and pulled herself into the saddle. It was too late to hope to be back to her parents’ house by supper, but there would surely be leftovers. She hardly thought she could muster the strength to cook herself anything substantial tonight.

“I heard your family had become the prime spot for good vegetables in Buckleberry,” Darad said after they both began their journey down the road from Brandy Hall toward Buckleberry. It was a five mile ride along the edge of the Brandywine, and they picked up an easy jog. “How are they?”

“Getting back into their old routine, I think. Every field’s sprouting like blossoms in spring. And you’re right. We’re the hub for fresh vegetables.”

The water that had flooded the valley that her childhood home lay in took several weeks to drain and recede completely, so her parents’ home had been one of the last to begin construction on in Buckleberry after the invasion of the Shire the previous year. The smial only took a couple of months to build and, with only very light snow to contend with, they were completely settled in by Yule. And, unlike the rest of the town, which had its once fertile ground salted, the water of the Brandywine tributary had swept their own land clean. Cori, her father Dennon, her mother Barbarella, and younger brother Garthor had their old fields plowed and ready for planting by spring. Most of their produce left in the form of charitable donations, but many other hobbits of other trades that had begun to recover were insistent on paying; they had to get the economy going again, according to the Master of Buckland. And so her family thrived.

“A few of the other Men helping with reconstruction have mentioned having your strawberries with cream,” he said. “Some of the best they’d ever had.”

“You’re most welcome to come by and try some any time.”

He shrugged. “It’ll have to be the next time I come through. I’m due back to Willowbottom in a few days.”

“Any trouble down there?”

He shook his head. “Everything’s quiet. No orcs seen anywhere within a hundred miles of the Shire for months. A few of Ryone’s followers have been taken in, but most have dissolved into the wilderness. No one’s too concerned about them rising up again.”

Cori let out a breath. Her nightmare may very well be over now. At least the real world ones.

 _Maybe we should swing by for a visit,_ she thought as they passed the road leading to her oldest brother Dugon’s house. The girls were incredibly enthralled by Darad, and he seemed particularly fascinated by the newest, little Fynn; he had never seen a hobbit baby before. But then she remembered that the family had been at her parents’ that day. Another reason to go besides mooching dinner off of them.

“I will stay at the inn in Stock tonight and make my way south in the morning,” Darad said as they stopped at the crossroad leading to the Buckleberry ferry. “I won’t impose on your family for that ale.”

She shook her head. “You helped Dugon rebuild his farm. They wouldn’t mind you staying a while.”

“Sorry, Miss Cori. Can’t intrude, not on good conscience. Some other time, I promise.”

She took his outstretched hand and shook it. “I’ll see you soon, then, yeah?”

He grinned. “You can count on it. I won’t be able to stop thinking about those strawberries.”

Cori watched him canter through the trees toward the docks, noticing a hobbit with a crate of fish hanging from each hand give him a smile and as best a wave as he could. Despite being invaded and having their homes destroyed by Men, the hobbits still welcomed the Rangers, perfectly aware of the service they performed on the borders. No harsh feelings remained; the hobbits were even keener on relations with other races than they ever had been. At least those in Buckland. They saw the advantage of having others on their side in a fight. There was peace now, and they were willing to do anything to keep it. Cori grinned. It took them a while, but they were finally coming to the conclusion she had reached many, many years ago.

She trotted the rest of the two miles, turning down the third path on the left from the ferry: Berry Bunch Bend, the land that had belonged to the Houndberry clan for generations and always would. And up to that point and beyond it, she enjoyed the ride immensely. With summer still rising, the nights and mornings remained cool, and the sunset provided the perfect atmosphere for an evening stroll. Cori breathed in the air and tipped her nose to the blue sky and the fluffy clouds above. Everything had been so hectic and toilsome, trying to turn Buckland into a self-sustaining place again; but she made sure to stop and take a moment every now and then to revel in this place, especially when they were finally rid of the last of the evidence of the attack. Cori felt like she could pretend she was fifteen again, riding the paths and sticking her feet in the river without a care in the world.

Their neighbors, families who bought up land that the Houndberrys could not afford to keep when times got hard in her earlier years, had also moved back in, and were just slipping into their smials for the evening as the sun dipped below the tree line on the opposite side of the Brandywine. Every house along the road had to be dug up again and fortified since the river water had damaged it all beyond repair. In the end, however, everything seemed to have been built almost the exact same as it was before; so much change had come already, the hobbits were inclined toward a little bit of constancy. That also included the house Cori grew up in.

From the outside, everything about her parents’ smial looked exactly the same as it had been in all of her thirty-seven years of life. The only difference on the inside was the absence of personal items collected over the years which had been swept off with the river; the debris was found against the Hedge after the water receded, but everything was damaged beyond salvaging, so they just burned the pile. All the rooms were the same, even the six bedrooms that had belonged to Cori and her five siblings when they all lived under the hill. Dennon and Barbarella insisted on making sure there was plenty of room for their growing family to stay if they ever needed or wanted to. They would not be swayed, especially when they realized that they had the funds to do so.

All of the homes belonging to Cori’s family, including her own little hut she built on the banks of the river, had been mended to perfection by the boundlessly generous donations given from the kingdom of Erebor. The dwarves of both the Lonely Mountain and Ered Luin had loaned money, food, building material and tools, and clothing to the Shire in thanks for their part in defeating Ryone, son of Tryone, and his following of racist rogue Men wanting to chase out or exterminate the dwarves. But it was also done in good will, asking for payment equaling half of what they loaned when the hobbits recovered and good trade relations into the far future. Of course, the hobbits really did not have a choice, if they wanted to survive the winter after all their crops were razed to the ground. The Houndberrys, however, obtained a special donation, just from Erebor.

The letter Cori received informing them that the largest treasury in Middle-earth was opened for her disposal was signed thusly:

_With all my love,_

_Thorin II, son of Thráin II, King Under the Mountain_

Refusing was futile, or so the letter in response to her answer said.

After tying Shadow to the fence outside, Cori dragged her feet toward the door. Already, she could hear the voices inside, particularly the excited chattering of the two young girls that overpowered anyone that tried to talk. Of course, the door creaking open went entirely unnoticed, and Cori wiped her bare feet on the rug before entering the parlor where all the ruckus came from. And what a domestic scene it was that greeted her.

Her greying mother sat in her armchair by the fireplace (not the one she sat in when Cori was a faunt, but still quite similar), seven-month-old Fynn swaddled in her arms and a serene look on her face as she cooed at her youngest grandchild. Dennon and Dugon debated about something at the tea table in the corner, four-year-old Lotus bouncing on her father’s knee. Ivy, Dugon’s wife, sat in the middle of the floor, entertaining seven-year-old Poppy with wooden figures while intermittently putting her two cents into the heated but friendly conversation going on. It was the usual gathering that greeted her when she came here; everyone visited each other very frequently after the attack.

The first one to notice her standing in the doorway was Poppy. “Auntie Cori!” she called, tossing her toys aside and nearly tripping over her skirts as she ran across the room. Cori caught her with a laugh, pressing a kiss to the round apple cheeks. She was almost too big to pick up now. “We had the ham that Papa smoked in the shed this week. Grammy made you a basket to take home.”

“Did she now?” When she caught Barbarella’s smile, she mouthed a quick thanks before carrying her niece to an empty chair by the window. There was, however, a strain to her mother’s expression that she did not like, and she wondered what she had done now. She thought about the dust and dirt that covered her blouse and skirt from working on the house today, but then she noticed the same stains and a rip in the skirt of the girl’s flower-printed dress and felt slightly better.

“I climbed a tree today,” Poppy exclaimed excitably. “All the way to the top.”

“Is that right? And what did you see up there?”

“For miles down the river, to the Felty fishing docks. And a little over the Hedge, but not much. Just the tops of the trees in the Old Forest. But it was more than I saw before. It goes on forever.”

Cori ignored the burning stare of the girl’s father; Dugon was not happy with the way she condoned and encouraged his daughter’s explorative nature since she had been living here again. She grinned, but masked it by focusing on Poppy’s chatter.

“What did you work on today?” the little girl asked.

“Well, Darad and I got the door frame up on a house near Brandy Hall. It should be able to fit the door soon. But he’s heading back home tonight, so it’ll probably go a lot slower now.”

“Is Darad still keeping the mean Big Folk away?”

Cori nodded. “Yes, he is. No more mean Big Folk.” Surprisingly, all of Cori’s nieces and nephews recovered well from the attack. They seemed a little wary of the Rangers at first, but after spending time with Darad, they remained just as curious as before. “Are you going to go with me tomorrow? I might need someone to sand and paint the door.”

Scrunching her tiny button nose, Poppy shook her head. “I don’t like the smell of the paint.”

Cori laughed, tugging the girl into a hug. “Don’t blame you, sweetheart.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dugon said. “Ivy’s taking them to her parents’ tomorrow. I’m bored out of my mind sitting at home like I am.”

“I’d be much obliged,” she replied, tipping an imaginary hat.

Dugon’s fields had been one of the few left untouched by the invaders, with only a few burnt places to show the Men’s attempts. His house was further off the main road, and the privacy saved him from being discovered by anyone else after Cori disposed of those that had set his house on fire. With his share of the money keeping him and his family afloat, he allowed other farmers in the area to tend to his fields and gardens for a bit of coin and a share of the produce. As it was, he had very little to do but walk around and act the part of overseer. The Houndberrys did not like to sit idle for long.

 The conversation resumed, and Cori forgot about her hunger for that implied basket in the kitchen as she listened to it drone on. It was the moments of peace and quiet like this that she had come to live for after spending all day toiling in the field or on reconstruction. Only when she felt a slight disturbance around her neck did she realize she had lent her head back and almost properly dozed off right there, with the warmth of the fire reaching her.

“What’s that?” Poppy asked absently.

Cori lifted her head to follow where the girl pointed her chubby finger, realizing that her own hand had been fiddling with the pendant hanging from a chain around her neck. It was a lozenge shape with a blue topaz in the center (or so it had been described in the letter that came with it three months ago; she had limited knowledge on gems), runes surrounding the jewel. Often, throughout the day, she found herself touching it, especially when nothing was on her mind. Not surprising that her subconscious would lead her in that direction. Lifting the pendant out of the collar of her shirt, she held it out for Poppy to see better. “This is from someone very special to me.”

“Oh.” The faunt took it in her palm and turned it over a few times, surveying the way the topaz glimmered in the firelight with wide eyes. “How special?”

Cori chuckled, glancing up to make sure their talk had gone unnoticed by the others in the room. “Well, you know how your mama is special to your papa?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “He loves her. He says that’s why he does things for her and gives her flowers and gifts all the time.”

“That’s how special this person is to me.”

“Papa says if you love someone that much, you should marry them. Are you going to?”

The words stopped short in Cori’s throat. Her thoughts as of late had been far from such things. Certainly never far from the person in question, but there was still a great distance between them, both physically and emotionally. Had she spent this past year in his company, she might have an answer. But their separation muddled things. She held out the necklace again. “What do you think? He made this all by himself, just for me. Do you think he’s worth marrying?”

Poppy scrutinized the jewelry with scrunched eyes. A moment passed before she replied, “I think so.”

Cori laughed, hugging the girl tightly. “I think so, too.” Who could meet the King Under the Mountain and find him to be an unworthy husband? But there had been so much doubt between them. It was knowing if he thought the same of her that stalled her.

“It’s getting late,” Ivy said after rising up off the floor and moving over to take her son out of Barbarella’s arms. “It’s a bit of a walk home still.”

“A good night for it,” Cori replied as Poppy squirmed out of her lap. “I should probably get going, too. Got an early start to the day tomorrow.”

“You’re working yourself to the bone, lass.” Dennon grinned knowingly at her. “You’ve done more than your fair share already. Time to let others do their own work.”

She shrugged. “It’s the reason I’m here. What else have I got to do?”

Her parents shared a look, one which ended with her mother shaking her head before walking out of the room without looking at her daughter. Cori glanced back and forth between them, trying to convey how much she did not enjoy being out of the loop. In the end, Dennon pitied her. “Your mother’s waiting for you to look into finding a job. Or a trade.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I told you,” she replied slowly. “I’m leaving once the food issue is settled. No need to tie myself down to an employer.”

Dennon got up from his chair, gripping the table for support; he had been stiff since the invasion, especially in his knees, and kneeling in the garden hardly helped. It was a little alarming to see her strong, steadfast father succumbing to his age. “You’ve really looked as if you’ve enjoyed being here. We assumed you might’ve changed your mind.”

“Of course, I’ve enjoyed being here. But my job is in fur trading, and I’ll need to get back to that soon.” She paused. Had she not planned on going to the Lonely Mountain after everything here was done? Picking up a few furs along the way would be necessary, seeing as she would take none of Thorin’s charity for her own personal use, but her days of running across Middle-earth were done.

 _They are, aren’t they_? she thought uneasily.

Dennon nodded, eyes flickering to the ground dejectedly. “Well, we’ve really appreciated you being here.”

She had nothing to say to that, so she just nodded with gritted teeth and marched toward the kitchen to grab the basket her mother had prepared. The woman was nowhere in sight. Hopefully, she would reemerge soon so Cori could go home.

“I think it’s best if you do leave quickly.” She turned in surprise when she found Dugon there, his jacket hanging over his arm. Before she could fully contemplate what he said, he continued, “My daughter’s becoming a miniature you.”

She snorted. “Could be following someone worse, right?”

“Suppose so. As long as you’re not convincing her to follow in your footsteps.”

“Would never dream of it. She’s sitting her little butt right down in Buckleberry and she’s not picking it back up. Just a stroke of luck it’s managed to work out for me the way it has.”

“Oh, so it’s worked out?” His lips flickered with a teasing smirk.

“In some ways it has.”

“Are you getting closed in again? Is that why you want to leave?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, I’ve always left for a reason. Not just because I don’t want to be here. And if…when I leave again, it’ll be for a reason.”

He nodded, lips pursed. “You know, there’s been a rumor going around for a while. Something that has to do with you.”

She busied her hands by looking through the basket. “And what could possibly have been said that hasn’t been explored already?”

“That you’ve become romantically involved with a dwarf.”

Her perusing halted briefly. “And where did that start?”

“Some hobbits saw you kissing one of them after the Battle Out of Oatbarton. Then they said that, during the celebrations in Hobbiton, you took him by the hand and led him off by yourself with a purpose. An unchaperoned walk in the dark, they described it, leading to Yavanna knows where. The king, they said. Is that the same king you were talking about traveling with when you came to visit us last year, before all this started?”

 “Well, looks like my big brother’s not as dumb as I used to think he was.”

“A dwarf, Cori? Really? Is that what you’re itching to run off to?”

She smirked with an innocent shrug. “Why not? He’s really quite handsome. Noble and honest. As skilled in bed as he is on the battlefield.”

“This is serious, Cori. Your reputation’s on the line. The rumor emerged after your visit to the Blue Mountains in February to announce that we were ready to start trading. People think you’ve been so successful in procuring deals with them because you…”

She barked a humorless laugh. “Is this why Ma’s been giving me the side eye all night? They think I’m exchanging sex for goods?”

“A bold, unmarried lass? What else are they going to think?”

“Well, my associations kept them from starving through winter,” she countered. “So even if that was the case, which is isn’t—I haven’t seen him since we got home after the battle, and no other dwarf is going to look twice at me—the least they can do is be grateful. It’s none of their business.”

“It doesn’t just affect you. This fancy of yours is making people question Ma’s and Pa’s integrity. They think they’re condoning it all, when they don’t have a clue. And while _we_ think you doing what you want as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone is fine, they see someone who will put ideas in children’s minds.”

“It’s not going to cause a revolution like Cornelius did.”

He shrugged. “You already led our people to war.”

“I think it’s been clear for years that I’m not going to be a good little hobbit wife. Yes, people followed me into war, but I’m not putting the idea of leaving the Shire into everyone’s heads and gathering volunteers. I’m building homes so people can live _here._ And I will leave quietly when I deem it’s time to go. It’s all just rumors that’ll die down eventually. Like always. It’s never gotten to you before.”

“I never imagined you dallying with a dwarf, though. And the fact that you’ve confirmed it to be true…”

She folded the blanket back over the food in the basket and slid it onto her arm. “For your information, Thorin Oakenshield is not my ‘fancy.’ I am just as in love with him as you are with Ivy.” She untucked the pendant from her collar, holding it out to him. “Dwarves do not give away their treasures to just anyone, especially ones they have crafted themselves. This speaks the same message that a bouquet of hyacinths would. I am thirty-seven, Dugon, not twenty-two.”

She did manage to say goodbye to everyone before she hopped onto Shadow, but her blazing temper needed the cool breeze of the evening on her face to save the furniture at her house from feeling her wrath. Oh, she hardly cared that people had noticed who she had placed her affections with. She was not ashamed to love and be loved by a dwarf. It was that her family obviously did not approve. Out of all the things that she had done out of the ordinary in her life, why was _this_ the one thing they found fault in? Did they not consider that it made her happy?

Her relationship with Barbarella had improved greatly over the last year, but she knew that her mother still wished for her to stay close by in Buckleberry for the remainder of their lives. She probably found it a disruption in her hopes that Cori now had something as strong as a beau to draw her attention elsewhere, and not just wandering aimlessly in the wilderness anymore. Or she truly did think her daughter was a trollop. Either one would explain the looks; the steadiness and understanding they had finally come to stood on a thread.

Dugon was protective, as their father was, for all his sisters and little brother. He would try to shield her not just from physical threats, but words against her as well. But there would have to come a day when he realized that she just _did not care._ More pressing things inhabited the world than idle gossip. Even if she did remain here for the rest of her life, she would let it all brush off of her like rain.

Still, she had the support of her oldest sibling, Margow, who had managed to squeeze information out of her about her love life, and Garthor, who stood by with a smile as she sucked face with the dwarf right in front of him. That gave her hope that the rest of them would come around to the idea eventually. If they did not? Well, it was a good thing she would be on the other side of the world, then.

Set apart on the banks of the Brandywine from everyone else, with no nearby lights for assistance, Cori could hardly see through the darkness as she approached her (extremely) humble abode. She lit the lantern she kept by the front door and set to work untacking and grooming Shadow. “You don’t care about all that talk, do you, son?” she asked as she ran a wet brush over the sweaty hair that had been beneath the saddle blanket. She laughed when he tossed his head at a fly in the same manner as a nod. “No, you like Thorin. Don’t think I didn’t see him sneaking you a few bites of fruit on the quest every now and then.”

The world seemed to be less taxing when spent in the company of her trusty stead.

She left him in the little pen beside her cottage with some hay and a handful of oats and trudged inside. The air was warm from the window she left open that morning, and the gentle sloshing of the river trickled in through it. Otherwise, it was quiet, and she had come to appreciate that about this place. The house was small, with four walls and a little fireplace on the far side from the door. Her sitting room was tiny with only a small chair and an end table by the hearth, but she rarely used it anyway. The kitchen was to the left of it, and a tea table sat beneath the open window on the right. Through the doorway next to the fireplace was her bedroom. It was the last place she went to as she made a pass around the house to light a few candles, chewing on a piece of seed cake from the basket. On her desk beneath the window in there, also open, she noticed something that she had not left there that morning. A pile of letters, bundled together with a string. She smiled with absolute elation.

A raven had been due at some point, she thought.

With her drowsiness forgotten and dinner on a plate in front of her, she sat down to sort her mail. The first one was signed with two names, one hastily scrawled and the other quite neatly written. Fíli and Kíli, sons of Dís, as different as night and day, but just as the light could not be without the dark, so were they as inseparable. They used the same paper to save on parchment, they told her, as was instructed by their uncle. They both talked about how boring it was to return to their duties as princes of Erebor after traveling around Middle-earth again. Unsurprisingly, they channeled their restlessness into training, so they bragged about how many opponents they had felled in the yard. Neither had yet to breach Dwalin, though. _They never would,_ she thought with a grin.

Fíli’s side of the letter drew her attention the most. He was wordy, unlike his brother, who got to the point and finished his letter in just over half of the page. After reading through with a knot in her throat about how much he missed her, she finally got to a point that made her pause. _I’ve asked Tira to marry me._ Tira, daughter of Lokthen, Firebeard with hair as bright as a fox’s fur. Fíli broke her heart before leaving on the quest to reclaim Erebor, and through Cori’s coercion, decided to attempt a second chance with her. Apparently, she could not resist the charm of the sons of Durin; Cori did not blame her, since neither could she.

He expressed how much he wanted her there for the wedding, which would be in the spring of the following year. She gnawed at her lip, trying to come up with the best way to tell him that she may not be able to. With the fields still being flushed of the salt, this upcoming winter would be just as hard as the last one was. If her parents ended up being one of the few who could produce, she could not leave them to sow all those fruits and vegetables by themselves when winter finally abated. It all sounded like excuses; she wanted to be there more than anything, though.

Once her reply was sealed, she opened the next one. Dwalin’s letter always appeared with every delivery, though he had even less to say than Kíli did. Usually complaining about training young dwarves for the ax and sword, teasing her about how she could easily best them. But he had also begun signing her name with “zabdûnê:” my queen. Another jest, she assumed initially. But then he finished the following letter with “You are a queen I would gladly follow,” supplying no context, and now it made her heart clench every time she saw the title. The scarred warrior was a hard nut to crack at times, but he was as sweet as a pie.

A little note from Enna, daughter of Nidor, had been slipped into the stack. Actually, it was in her father’s hand, but a rough set of cirth runes at the bottom had been done by the twelve-year-old girl, practicing her name in the written language of her people. If she were honest, Cori had not expected the little girl they found in the company of orcs to have remembered her after so long, with all that the dwarfling had gone through in her short life. But her first letter had been an expression of gratitude from both her and her father for keeping the promise Cori made: to reunite Enna with her parents. Now, Nidor kept her up-to-date with how they both were settling in at Erebor, always letting her know that she was free to request that they stop. Cori could not bring herself to do so.

The last letter was in an envelope, one word in carefully-written swirls on it: Thorin. She snorted when she found several pages, front and back, inside it. The usual. He was not eloquent when writing informal letters (his note about the funds had been very business-like, though it came with a separate, rather casual explanation), but he spent many paragraphs talking about anything and everything. What they would be conversing about were she there.

_Darling,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. Thank you for your kind words concerning the deal with Dale. It urged me to follow through with it, and I am awaiting an answer, though I imagine it will be resolved one way or another by the time this reaches you. Still, your words of wisdom and your scolding for my hesitance gave me a pleasant ending to an otherwise detestable day. It has become an involuntary reflex to seeing your hand._

_I was pleased to note your request for more funds in your last response. It is yours, as always. I have sent correspondence to Lord Arin of Durmark. You may draw what you need from him, and I will send him the difference with the next trade caravan. Do not concern yourself with repayment. This is a gift from me to you. I can only hope you are using it for yourself and not living on scraps while others around you enjoy opulence. I know you._

She glanced around at her cottage, smirking. It certainly was not “opulent.” He went on for a while about repairs to Erebor and advancements in trade. He briefly mentioned remodeling his own chambers “to the satisfaction of a sun-seeking creature,” though the vagueness left her wondering if he had just indulged in a night of ale before writing it. At her invitation, he vented about some disappointing communication (or lack thereof) with the Elvenking, obviously irked by a refusal from the latter. She debated whether or not to tell him she spent most of that part of the letter snickering into her hand.

_Please extend my congratulations and well wishes to Garthor and his bride. I am certain it was a beautiful occasion, one that was sorely needed at this time._

Her last letter had been sent two weeks prior, the day after Garth and Basil Took said their vows. Thorin was right: it was an event that swept away the anxiety of their ruined fields and the impending doom of winter. She may have to postpone his request, though, since she had not seen hide or hair of her little brother since he and Basil left the ceremony and certainly was not brave enough to approach the smial of a newlywed couple.

He let her know how Dís was doing; his sister had taken an interest in the hobbit that managed to steal away into the heart of her “thick-skulled big brother,” as Thorin bemoaned. She was once again sour at him for taking her children away into danger, and Thorin wondered if he had a chance to ever win that ongoing battle of seeing his nephews triumph as great warriors and appeasing their mother. Cori, remembering the little of what she knew of the daughter of Thráin, guessed that Dís also wanted the same thing for her boys, but just enjoyed badgering her brother. Cori could not wait to meet with her again.

_I may have exhausted you by now with my ardent declarations, but know that, were we speaking face-to-face, I would have nothing less to say. I look forward to seeing Crome at the roost (thank you for feeding and sheltering him; he enjoys his visits as well). It is a highlight to my day, so please allow me this. If only I could find the words. I feel it is easier to show you my heart rather than speak it. You are my heart, my kurdu. I am impatient for the day you say you will return to me, but I will wait as long as I must. I see you now, laughing at my wanting attempts to sound romantic and sentimental. At least I have managed to make you smile. But while I sound like a flustered youngling waxing poetic to his intended, I assure you that is how you make me feel. I am an old fool smitten with the most beautiful, charming, alluring woman._

_You have much to do, I know, but it would bring me tremendous joy to know that I am in your thoughts, as you are always in mine. I wish you great productivity in your day and pleasant dreams in the night._

_With love,_

_Thorin_

Her cheeks ached, but the smile would not wane even as she slept that night. Though nearly a thousand miles separated them, she felt his closeness when she held his letters in her hands. She had yet to revert to taking them to bed with her, though that spot was already filled by the dark blue tunic he had left with her.

A repetitive sound out of the window made her head jerk up, and she grinned as the large raven, barely able to fit in the frame, settled on the sill and set his intelligent eyes on her. “Evening, Crome.” She offered a piece of cake to him, which he very politely and delicately plucked from her fingers. “I won’t have these done until tomorrow night, so you’re free to take up a spot wherever you like.”

With a small croak, he leapt up from the window and flew through the doorway and into the sitting room. He probably did not know what she said, but the routine was the same every delivery. His favorite spot had been above the fireplace over winter, so she guessed that was where he was now. She would set out some of the ham for him later.

It was late. The crickets and frogs had already begun to sing their nighttime songs. And yet, she just could not stop staring at the letter. _Just one more read-through before bed,_ she told herself. Just one more, or two _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that didn't take long at all, did it?  
> Hello to all my returning readers! And if you're new, you're in the wrong place. Go check out "The Service of Hobbits" first, or this whole story will be incredibly confusing.
> 
> When I realized that my original plan for this story wouldn't work, I kinda panicked. But after working on the plot nonstop for two days, I managed to piece together something coherent, something that I liked, and something that may not top the last one but at least stand up to it. And here we are. I'm terrified this won't work, but I'm going to jump into it anyway.
> 
> Now, bear in mind: I start classes in about two weeks, and I have an interview for a job next week that I'm very confident about getting (and very excited about, wish me luck), so my time writing this will be even more limited than with TSOH. But, don't worry, this will certainly fill up most of my free time.
> 
> Also, one or two more things will be added to The Life of Hobbits that pertain to TSOH soon, but I just wanted to get this out quickly. Now enjoy this rollercoaster ride for our lovely hobbit lass Cori and her gorgeous, sexy dwarf. =D


	2. Commoner with a Crown

They tried. No one could say that they did not. But no one really expected anything to come of it either.

“I thought we cleared it good enough,” Dennon said, clenching his salted brown hair in his fist as he scanned the barren field. His brow pinched in frustration. “At least enough to lay down a few summer crops to harvest in autumn.”

Cori shook her head as she followed his eyes, a long breath falling from her nose.

It was a neighbor’s field. Its position allowed them to direct water from the river onto it so they could flush out the contaminated soil. It was easier than some of the other fields, which they practically had to scrape up by hand. They had counted on it nurturing some corn, even if it was only a little bit that sprouted up. Still, the earth did not yield.

Cori had never dealt with this before. Many times, they had spring rains that flooded the fields, or frosts that killed the shoots before they could mature. The Fell Winter produced some of the worst famine conditions the Shire had seen since Marcho and Blanco stepped into it, the bitter frost and early snows slaughtering most of the crops. The horrible cold had taken a striking toll on the unsuspecting, ill-prepared hobbits. And then the wolves came…Cori was only five when it happened, but the haunted look in her parents’ eyes when the subject was breached filled in all the gaps she could not remember. This, however, was a different kind of struggle. They could not get the crop started at all.

“What do we do?” Farmer Moffit murmured, looking around as if the answer would spring out of the ground where the plants would not. “It is almost July. We have to be quick if we’re going to do anything at all?”

“How good is the land on the east side of the river?” Cori glanced toward her father.

He shook his head. “Rocky. Worse than Oatbarton. Roots everywhere from those big oak trees. Won’t get much of anything, I’m afraid.”

“What about the Northfarthing?” Petunia Moffit suggested, one hand on the shy little boy clinging to her skirts.

Cori shrugged. “We could try, if anyone’s willing to go up there. I’m sure we could convince a few adventurous souls to brave it, though I doubt very many would want to return to that place anytime soon.”

“No one’s checked up there,” Dennon said. “We don’t know if anything’s been done to the soil up there either. We may not want to bank on it.”

“Then we go west,” Cori replied. “Send a few carts over there and bring back what the other farthings are willing to give. The land out there is more disperse. Bilbo says they’re doing great out there, unlike us, stuck between the river and the forest as we are.”

“It’s more populated, though. They may not be willing to take a chance on a shortage.”

Cori sighed, sifting the dry dirt around with her toe. “Then we’ll have to do it.”

The two men nodded. “Looks like it,” Dennon murmured.

Moffit scoffed. “More debt to the dwarves.”

“Maybe not,” Cori assured. “I’ve got friends that are feeling charitable at the moment. If anything, it’ll be at a reduced price.”

“‘Friends,’” Petunia mumbled, taking her lad by the hand and walking back toward their home. Cori bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile. What great sport, being the scandal of the town.

“It won’t take long to pay it all back once we get on our feet,” Cori assured the farmer.

He nodded. “Well, you’re the one keeping up with it, so I’ll trust your judgment.”

Dennon looked disgruntled, and while it had been pointed at Petunia for a moment, it had not dropped when he glanced back toward the field. “I hate that you have to go again.”

“It won’t take long. Just settle some amounts, visit old friends, and I’ll be back in a pinch.”

He grinned. “Figured you’d want to stay a little longer than that.”

“Chrys says Rory’s getting ready to start walking without holding onto anything any day now. I missed all the others’ first steps, and I’m really looking forward to seeing Fynn’s, too.”

The joyful sparkle in his eye was hard to miss. “You’re planning on staying for a while, aren’t you?”

She sniffed. “Long enough.”

He bent down to press a kiss to her temple. “I’m so glad.”

With her hand tucked into his bent elbow, they began the walk back toward his house. “Can you and Garth handle gathering a group together to take the wagons over?” she asked. “I’ll head off to the Blue Mountains ahead of it. Our stock from over the winter is almost out, and we’ll need as much as we can to feed the animals so they’re fattened up for this year.”

“Need a partner?”

“Hardly. I’m a better rider than most around here, and I can cover more ground quicker. I always preferred it as just me and Shadow.”

“You seemed to have found worthy company, though.”

She felt the nervousness settle in her stomach, and the temptation toward flight from the subject, but then she decided that she had nothing to hide. “The rumors are true, Da.”

“Oh, I figured there was something to it. It’s quite a specific thing for the vine to come up with, even with their boundless creativity. And it’s not like you to go sneaking around with such a thing if it means that much to you.”

She stared up at him, trying to decipher the neutral set of his face and decide if she would need to defend herself. After a moment of staring, he finally cracked a smile and looked at her.

“And it’s just like you to go getting sweet on a gruff, heavy, rugged dwarf.”

She pouted. “So why does it sound like you don’t believe me?”

“I don’t doubt it.” He patted her hand. “And you’re going to do what you want anyway, no matter what I have to say.”

“Yeah, but I’d still like to know your thoughts.”

“All right, then. He has my blessing to call on you.”

She giggled. He had kind of been doing that already through his letters. “I’ll make sure to let him know when I hear from him again.”

“I trust that you’ve picked a good one.”

She leveled a playful glare on him. “I still have standards, even if they stoop toward ‘heavy’ and ‘rugged.’” _Oh, and what perks those are._ “He’s a king. There’s no better in all of Arda.”

“King or no, he still has to ask for your hand when you get that far.”

She slapped his arm. “Da!”

“That’s my terms. And you make sure he knows it.”

She wished she could see Thorin’s face when she told him. Dennon Houndberry was not as intimidating as he believed himself to be.

                     *******************

It was as if she had never stopped.

Once out of the Shire and into the wilderness of the foothills preluding the Blue Mountains, all those endless days of campfires and path-forging came rushing back in a heap of a memory. Cori wondered how she had ever been able to make herself stop for an entire year. She smelled the fresh pine scent coming off of the slopes in front of her, watched a herd of deer scamper through the trees, and suddenly, she was lighter than a feather. This had been her home for sixteen years of her life, almost half of her entire existence; it would linger in her blood for a long time.

Of course, after spending six days on horseback, she had begun to see the perks of using her feet as primary transport. Her ass protested the punishment of continuous trotting for hours, and she had the distinct feeling of being split in half in her thighs. “You’ve gotten fat,” she murmured to her pony as he puffed fiercely with the easy pace. The most work he had done was carrying her from town-to-town, predominantly at this pace, and plowing the fields in spring. His days were filled with green grass and dozing in the sun otherwise, but gracious, did he deserve it after all she put him through.

They were left undisturbed for their entire trip. No orcs or wild beasties to contend with. The weather was hot, but only a couple nights produced thunderstorms, during which the two travelers happened across sufficient shelter. Their pace was swift, and soon, the sharp angles of the ridges rose up against the blue skies. They were nearing Durmark. She heard the capital city of southern Ered Luin was in top operating condition after the attack that cost them their previous lord. Lord Arin, newly appointed by Thorin himself, worked tirelessly to return the dwarves of the Blue Mountains to their former lives before all the turmoil began. He was a pleasant fellow to converse with, as far as dwarves went, but even he would have his limits; she wondered if he had any desire to speak with her on top of everything else he had to do.

If not, she would make sure to put the desire in him, because she did not feel like watching her kin drop like flies this winter.

Since the battle with Ryone, she had been back to Durmark once. The last time she approached the towering stone guards of this great dwarven city, she had been on the verge of requesting a quick tour of the forges to thaw out the February cold from her bones. How was it that, two years in a row, she had to taste winter in the high mountains? Now, she desperately wanted the cool of the subterranean dwellings. And, if she were quite honest, those who lived within them were not exactly a repulsive side effect for once. Still, the potential for that old danger she always tiptoed around remained, especially if there were some there who remembered her. She had not made a terribly flawless first impression on the people of her beloved.

There were always exceptions.

“Cori, my bonny lass!” At the broad gates of the city, a familiar wide grin beneath a neatly-braided brown beard greeted her, nearly pulling her off Shadow’s back when she made the mistake of reaching in for a hug with one foot still in the stirrups.

“Bern,” she wheezed, resisting the urge to flail as the air rushed from her chest. This dwarf did not need armor to enhance the gift of strength Aulë had granted him. He was almost as tall as Thorin, and brawnier than any dwarf in full battle gear. He gave Dwalin a run for his money. “Nice to see you again.”

“About time.” He grunted as he set her down on her feet. The jolt of the impact shot straight up her numb legs. “All those letters you send does no justice compared to seeing your smile.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have the skill or time to give you an illustration every time I send you something. I’ve been doing a little more than writing letters, my good sir.”

“So I’ve heard,” he chuckled, taking Shadow by the reins and leading the both of them into the mountain.

Hardly a thing had changed about the young dwarf beside her, and the same could be said for the entire place. The halls still glowed a dark blue with torchlight, and the streets were lined end-to-end as dwarves perused through the market. It was a prosperous place that spit out iron and the occasional bit of silver like a waterwheel. It almost single-handedly set the economy of Ered Luin back on track. Astounding, really.

She studied her walking companion. He looked nothing like the ragged, malnourished prisoner she found in the dungeon of a town of Men. Then again, only a couple days after escaping such a fate, he looked like a completely different person. A true representation of his kind down to the core. “I see you’ve made a step up from where you were before. A lot of decorative pomp and circumstance going on.” She gestured to the shiny mail and red cape bellowing behind him as he walked.

“Lieutenant to a scrawny halfling? I think I’ve made more than a step, thank you.” Her kick to his shin bounced off like a pebble against a tree, and he just stared at the sight of impact with a smirk. “Aye, the mountain’s been good to all us that came from that pit in Overton. Arin’s given me a position amongst his best military officers. Generous, I’ll admit, and a great deal of a promotion from my last occupation. Ever tell you I used to work in the ale business? Actually, it was more of the ale barrel business. Can’t say the renown of nailing wood planks together goes quite as far as wearing armor and a sword every day.”

“Oh, so now you’re going to look down your nose at people doing those jobs?” she teased. “Not much renown in being a farmer or a fur trader either, but when it boils down to it, who’s really doing the people the bigger service?”

He chuckled, patting her shoulder. “Don’t doubt for a minute that I see anything lowly about the common jobs. I’ve been there my whole life, too, same as you have. I know the virtue of a humble hard day’s work.”

“I feel like I’ve had nothing but. When does your shift end?”

“‘Round suppertime. I’ll stop by your quarters and take you down to the tavern. Arin’s been told you’re here, though, so I believe he’s cleared for your meeting right now. Your attitude fiery enough to deal with a bunch of old codgers? Think council’s in there with him.”

“Several days in the saddle are good fuel for dealing with politics. And I’ve had to get their attention once before. I know the game.”

He guffawed loud enough to draw attention, tugging her against his side.

This was easier than the last time she stood before the council of the lord of Durmark and made her requests on behalf of the Shire. The time before that, she screamed in their faces to interrupt what was about to become a brawl about what to do with Ryone and his men. Though that ended quite favorably for everyone—in her case, she got to leave the room with her head—she about had a panic attack the next time. Thankfully, Lord Arin, cousin of the previous Lord Avin, had a better temperament than his predecessor, Mivror, the steward set in Avin’s place after the latter had been kidnapped (whose whereabouts remained unknown, leading to a presumption of fatality). With Arin, things ran smoothly during the mad scramble last autumn. She counted on him to keep command of his court room, as he always did so well.

The leading dignitaries of Durmark had indeed gathered in the meeting hall, seated in their high-backed chairs along the walls draped with banners and looking to the stern dwarf at the resolute desk on the far side of the room. A few familiar faces turned to her when she entered through the wide double doors, and beneath the stoic masks, she could feel their curiosity for the outcome of this visit and a hint of petulance. They did not like how she disregarded their high status and spoke to them in accordance with their moodiness. It was endless amusement for her. Of course, those who actually showed her respect enjoyed her presence. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything important.”

“Miss Houndberry.” Belvor, Durmark’s newest army general, greeted her with a kind smile from his seat near the desk, nodding to Bern behind her. He was yet another dwarf that had seen her loyalty to them under the threat of war, one of the few that knew of her past infractions and chose to look beyond them. He had been forced to tell the council all that he learned about her, which strengthened the spitefulness of those who would rather see that than the woman who freed their kin and fired the arrow that killed their enemy. It could not be helped, so she pardoned him when he apologized. “No, there are no pressing problems at the moment.”

“But we are open to hear yours,” Arin bid after gesturing to the others to sit.

She pulled the distress letter from her satchel, unfolding it to show the Thain’s seal and signature at the bottom, as well as the Master of Buckland’s next to it. “I’m afraid I’ve come to you with matters concerning the economic state of the Shire.” She placed the letter on the desk, patting it with a cordial smile. She returned to the middle of the room. “The heavy soil contamination in the Shire and Buckland has failed to produce a sufficient crop to sustain both regions for the coming winter. Our farmers have been hard at work restoring the land to working order, and are doing so as we speak, but while we may have the problem solved for the next growing season, we still face starvation between now and then. We’re so very close, and even closer to repaying you and all others we’ve taken loans from over the past year.”

“But you need another one,” one of the sourpusses on the left side of the room sneered, and she sent him her best smile.

“It wouldn’t be a poor investment, I promise, since the trade benefits between Ered Luin and the Shire cannot be passed up, as we’ve already discussed.”

“What benefits?” interrupted another, and she knew her face was even faker than before because she caught Bern hiding a smile in his beard.

“People need to eat, Master Dwarf, even you hardy mountain folk. Not only that, but you need clothes that don’t clang together when you walk. A bit uncomfortable lying in bed at night, I imagine.” That pulled a chuckle from the otherwise stale room. “Wheat for bread and for your ales, vineyards for your wine, cotton for your excellent spinners. We’ve got it all, when we haven’t been invaded by a Man throwing a temper tantrum. All that loose soil’s good for something, especially things that can’t be hewn from rock, as you all specialize in. And while we hobbits have very little interest in the things so valued by dwarves, we do like a bit of coin to buy what we do like and trinkets to fill our humble homes in. So, you see, it would be an excellent arrangement for both sides.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Miss Houndberry,” Arin said after lifting his eyes from the paper. “It was needed by some of us here, it seems. Though, I can assure you, there are those of us who have considered it very seriously and know that an agreement can be made.” He placed the letter back down on his desk and pushed it toward the edge. “Of course, in order to accomplish those things, you must rise up out of this rut you’ve been tossed into.”

“And pulling us further in with them,” the first dignitary to speak up earlier grumbled. “Haven’t we just escaped one ourselves? I, for one, am not in favor of returning to that state, especially at the behest of a…fox.”

This time, she glared. She did not deceive anyone just for the sake of being wily. Anyone who had the right to judge her would know that. And she really wanted to know what the other word he wanted to use instead was.

“That will not be a problem,” Arin replied, switching his gaze from the dwarf back to her. “I received a raven from King Thorin of Erebor. He said you had asked him for a loan of coin to give to us in exchange for what you need. This implies that you are aware of our own instability and sought other means. He acknowledged that by gifting you the money instead.”

_Actually, I think it was for other reasons._ But many, if not all, in the room knew of her association with him, so she felt grateful to him for not pointing it out. Even though there were some who she would love to flaunt his favor in front of.

“Everything you ask for will be paid in full through the House of Durin. There will be no need for us to pay out of pocket.” He leaned forward with a smirk. “If I were you, Miss Houndberry, I would not stint when I have the generosity of the treasure of Thrór in my hands. We will make sure you get everything you need. Your terms?”

Cori beamed, facing the scribe in the corner. “Enough for one-pound rations three times a day for ten months. Meats will do fine until autumn, then produce will sustain us through the winter. Interest may be increased, if the court sees fit.”

“That’s quite a lot,” someone commented not unkindly. “How can little things like you put away so much?”

She snorted. “Little things like me have been living off such rations for the past year while working dawn until dusk, so I’m a bit sparser in some places than I otherwise would be. You would be surprised how little we remain when eating five times that. You’d know how essential it is for us to get our fields going again.”

The hobbits had to have that again. They needed the comfort they once knew, and maybe the wounds from this ordeal would finally start to heal. At least, _her_ wounds would.

Arin agreed to the terms, requesting she meet with him the following day to flesh out details and settle on a floating payment that she could record and bring back to the Shire. After an exchange of thanks and a swift departure from Bern, a guard led her to the rooms she would occupy during the remainder of her stay in the upper levels of the lord’s halls. They were not the same guest chambers she stayed in the last few times she was here, though, which she enjoyed immensely. Oh, no, not even close.

“I think you’re mistaken.” She pointed into the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the dwarf that just opened it.

He seemed to enjoy her befuddlement. “No, my lady. My instructions were clear.”

“‘Clear’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe them, but I’ll trust that you were given them.” When she stepped into the room and looked around the door, she knew she had not been mistaken by its location.

This was the room Thorin stayed in during their journey the previous year. The king’s guest chambers.

The guard set her saddlebags on the floor just inside before closing the door, but there was very little interest in it for her. She had some exploring to do. Her previous time in here, she had gone no farther than the front parlor where the large desk sat on the opposite side of the room from the door. Of course, her eyes immediately settled on the two wolf pelts laid out on the floor in front of it. She could probably spend hours poring over the twin bookshelves on the left and right walls. The room itself was not terribly huge, but she could probably fit her entire house in it.

Another doorway on the right led into a different room. On the other side of it, perfectly in line with the one she stood in, was the entry to one more room. From what she could see of it, there was a basin for water, a mirror, and shelving with towels: bathchambers. She crossed into it and peered inside. “Oh, Took’s hairy toes,” she gasped, biting her finger with a wide grin. The last thing she would call that would be a tub; it was a blasted pond.

Dwarves were very clean creatures, she discovered after spending months on the road with them; a common misconception was that it was the opposite, and even her own family had come to believe it. It had not been because they were in the presence of a woman, they assured her, though Dwalin confessed that they refrained from doing things they would have normally done had she not been there (she had an extensive imagination, but chose not to think on it for too long). As resilient as they were, diseases in their closed-in mountain halls could be devastating to the population struggling with numbers as it was. After practicing it so much, they found they enjoyed the tasks of cleaning. And so, Cori now knew something that very few people of other races were allowed: the origin of why dwarves held so much importance for their hair. The better care one took of themselves (displayed by their hair), the fitter and healthier they were as a person. She had to admit that her respect for the dwarves increased that day.

Thorin had laughed at her when she expressed her giddiness of finding something out about dwarven culture. “It’s like finding the perfect gem in a pile of dull rocks,” she explained. Then she was reprimanded by those listening in for calling rocks dull.

She smiled. Those memories had been popping up more and more in recent days. She clung to them when she sat by her hearth, alone, tending to her bow.

She returned to the previous room and found herself dumbstruck once more. The room was shaped like an L, and the bed sat on the wall that made up the bottom line, obscured from the open doorway. A dark red canopy draped around it, but the side facing her was open, and she could see piles of furs lying on the extravagant bronze comforter. On the long wall (vertical line of the L) was a fireplace with a recently-tended flame flickering brightly amongst the logs. Perpendicular to that sat a large wardrobe of dark walnut wood, which matched the wood of the chairs in front of the fireplace and the frame of the bed.

Her room for her previous stays had been one of the best she had ever stayed in, even better than her lodgings in Erebor, and only topped by those in Ereven. However, only her imagination could have dreamed up something like this, and she never would have hoped to look upon it, let alone be permitted to stay in it.

_Why in Arda have they done this?_

Before she turned to grab her bags from the parlor, she caught a glimpse of something on the bed. A piece of parchment lay on the pillow next to a sparrow feather (the kind she used most often to fletch her arrows). A familiar hand scrawled across the paper, and everything came together.

_This is only a taste of what I can offer you. Consider this proof of my substance as a provider for you. Enjoy, my love._

                                                          _T_

As if a king needed to demonstrate his worth as a suitor. Oh, she could not even imagine what must be going through the mind of whoever placed this here. Neither, for that matter, could she trust that Arin had not read it, as it obviously came with the letter announcing her intentions there. Would she even be able to look him in the eye the next day?

Ridiculous dwarf.

                 ********************

Ale did little for Cori’s pallet but wet it. Most were flat; no one could do it right but the hobbits, she thought. However, the dwarves were on the right track, and it certainly beat ending a long day completely sober. She had only tasted better in the Iron Hills.

“I never asked how long you were in there,” she said, turning to her drinking partner as they hunched over the bar of Durmark’s rather cramped tavern. They had been lucky to even grab seats. Each of their hands lazily grasped the tankards they had been sipping from since they arrived half an hour earlier. It was because of it that she broached the question; she would have preferred to put that time behind them and never bring it up again, but that would be rather cowardly. She had decided to try to stop being so.

“Wondered why you didn’t,” he replied after a quick drink. “Figured you thought it a little sore place at the time, but we dwarves pick at scabbed wounds all the time, so it’s not like you would’ve made it any deeper. I’d reckon I sat in that dungeon a good five months, though I wasn’t the first one. I haven’t a clue how long those Men occupied that old place, but I’d say it wasn’t long after the attacks started that they set up shop. It was a fishing net, after all, so they needed to be where the dwarves would fall into their hands.”

“Did you know Thorin was down there?”

He grinned. “Aye, that I did. Stayed in the cell next to mine. Only way I knew was somebody from Ereven was in the one on his other side, and she called his name after the guard left. We all appreciated the encouragement he gave, and the promise that he’d see us freed. No one really expected anything, though, so we just let the good feelings hang around as long as they could. He was taken out again the next day and he didn’t come back. We all thought the worst.”

“The worst was going to happen, but me and the others managed to snatch him back. He told us about you; that’s how I knew where to find you for when we busted you out.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing we stayed put. We tried to make a break afterward, lifted in spirits as we were from seeing him. They caught on before we could execute it, and even though we had the means to do it again, we decided not to attempt it. Otherwise, you might’ve happened upon an empty dungeon, and your plan for boosting the army would’ve flopped.”

She pressed a hand to her breast. “You brave, brave soul, sticking it out like that. Whatever should I do to repay such selfless sacrifice, master dwarf? Name your heart’s desire.”

“Hm.” A brazen smirk pulled his moustache up. “I’d like a kiss. But I’m not entirely sure it’d be such a good idea. I have made many enemies, none of which I regret, but what I don’t need is the wrath of the King of Erebor brought down on me. Durin’s heirs are infamous for their passionate jealousy over their treasures.”

“Oh, posh.” She craned her neck to reach up to his cheekbone, smiling at the soft pink glow now flushing the skin above his beard. If he blamed it on the ale, she would let him. “I can give my affection to whoever I please. There’s not a thing he can do about it. And I’m not a golden statue to add to his collection.”

He chuckled. “Didn’t believe that for a second. But the instinct of a dwarf to protect his chosen partner is a compelling force even your tenacious mind can’t curve. A dwarrowdam is a rare gift, and one willing to seek a husband is even rarer still. We know when we’ve been given such a fortune, and to guard her is our basest impulse.”

Thorin called her his gift. Suddenly, it seemed more meaningful than just an amorous moniker. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

The cheerful playfulness fell away from his youthful face, and his dark eyes grew distant. _You’ve done it now,_ she grumbled to her ale. “Dwarves love fiercely when they find it. And it’s a real trudge to pull ourselves out of it when we should look elsewhere. Yeah, I knew that feeling once upon a time.”

That was as far as she would go. The reason why he no longer felt that was his burden to lay out as he pleased. But she reached over to grip his hand; she would be there if he felt the need. He accepted the gesture with a grin, the life returning to his face quickly. “Anyone catch your eye before our great king?”

She shook her head. “My fleeting female one, aye. Never beyond a quick glance. I frolicked, but I wasn’t ever around long enough to let it sink in deep. Besides, I wasn’t exactly somebody that any hobbit would want to take home to his parents. I had a…reputation.”

He snorted into his cup. “Well, you’ve got one here now, too. ‘King Thorin’s halfling’ is your title, _Your Majesty_.”

She groaned. Somehow, she thought they could dally a little longer before all of Middle-earth tried to shove into their business. Oh, but these were dwarves. One whisper of something out of the ordinary, and they were on it like moths to a flame. Very annoying moths. “I’d dig at you for calling me Halfling again, but I think I’d rather hear it than the second thing you said.”

“It’s a good thing to know you haven’t let being the object of a king’s affection get to your head.”

“He knows I don’t give a damn about his position.”

“Oh, so it’s _love_ you’re after,” he drawled, as if the idea had not been fathomable before. “You shot high.”

“Complete accident. Regret it every day of my life.”

“Sweetheart, that’s the exact definition of love. Get used to it.”

She smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Something clattered behind them, followed by a whole lot of yelling. Cori turned to look over her shoulder just in time to duck out of the way of a cup flying through the air. When she looked back to see where it came from, she noticed Bern had reflexively lifted his hand to shield her head. It had not seemed to be aimed at her, as when she pushed the hand aside, she watched one dwarf launch himself into the other, screaming a coarse sentence in Khuzdul. A table collapsed beneath them, and a few others jumped in.

“This happens a lot,” Bern said, watching with amusement.

“I’ve spent almost half my life lurking around dwarvish taverns. I caught on a long time ago.” As she turned back toward her ale, she noticed his eyes linger below her chin. She was about to comment that one kiss did not give him permission to ogle the collar she had opened slightly against the heat of the room, but he beat her to it.

“What’s that?” He pointed to her sternum.

She picked up the pendent hanging from her neck, holding it out to him. “He sent this to me a few months ago. Courtship present. I haven’t decided what I’ll send him back, but I told him he’ll have to be patient while I think long and hard about it. It’ll have to be something good to beat a hand-made token like this.”

He delicately took it between his thick fingers, examining the jewel in the middle, then twisting it around to read the etchings surrounding it. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Well, would you look at that? Mahal, how are you even here right now and not locked up in his bedchambers?”

She felt her cheeks burn like the red sunset, snatching the necklace back. “What? What does it say?”

“He never told you?”

“He just told me he’d made it himself. I noticed his craftsman’s mark, but I never actually sought out the rest of it. What do they mean?”

He smirked. “‘My One, My Gift, My Heart.’ I should probably bow. As pretty much a declaration of ‘This is my queen’ as you’re going to get.”

“All right, enough of that,” she grumbled, gripping the necklace protectively in her palm.

“Well, he’ll probably ask you with words, but you could save him the trouble by saying yes now.”

She shoved him, glaring into his laughing face. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Her head spun, and she was having a hard time distinguishing it as the drink or her pounding heart. Thorin surely had not actually intended that by the gift. He knew where they stood concerning their relationship, and a few words exchanged in letters would not have called for anything beyond what they had when they parted. But the thought alone had her reeling. Queen? _No, not a good time. You’ll probably have an attack._

Bern patted her shoulder with a grin. “I’m just teasing you, lassie. You’re well within your rights to do things your way. Women set the pace with us.”

She tucked the pendent back into her shirt, feeling its coolness brush her skin. “Good. That’s good.” Her foggy mind made it hard to decide how to use that power. Instead, it decided to focus on something else. “‘My One.’ What does that mean?”

“It’s a reference to this fabled idea of soulmates, two people who share a heart and soul and are predestined to find each other in love. It’s not real, only fuel for romantic poems and the like. But it’s a sweet thing for dwarves to refer to their loves as their One. Sort of an act of tradition. It’s supposed to show how much the person truly means to them. I don’t want you to panic, but for a king to declare somebody his one is a _very_ big deal.”

“I imagine it is.” She took a long, deep breath, hand gripping her cup a little tighter. Then she took a large gulp of it and stared across the bar. “Oh, what have I gotten myself into, Bern?”

“A life that’s worth it all, I can promise you that.” He smiled amicably. “I saw the way he looked at you. Kissed you. Held you as you sat by the fire. You have him, lass, whether you want him anymore or not. Even if you don’t become the queen, you’ll still have unimaginable power. To command his heart is to command Erebor.”

The ale began to buzz in her veins once more, and suddenly, what had been a terrifying thought only mere moments ago now seemed like the greatest fun one could possibly be handed. To hear it from someone else actually made it more believable: she held the heart of the one who also had hers. Soulmates, she may not agree with. But there was definitely something magical about Thorin Oakenshield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still testing out ideas, so there's been a lot of deleting and rewriting lately. I'm still terrified about screwing something up since I'm not doing a first draft this time around. I may just have to settle with what I get. I'm not unsatisfied so far, so I think it's going well.
> 
> It was lovely seeing all of you again on the first chapter. Thank you so much for your unwavering support. You guys are the bestest! <3
> 
> Feedback is always welcome in all forms. Questions, comments, anything! I'd love to hear from each one of you. :)


	3. Compromise

A gentle touch brushed across the bottom of Cori’s foot, tickling until her toes curled, and she smiled. A sound mumbled out of her mouth, some kind of weak protest to it. But then she felt warmth wrapped around her, and a solid pressure on her back, and she forgot what she complained about.

It seemed only mere moments before it happened again, but sleep’s hold was not so strong this time. Her head jerked up, and she blinked into the darkness. “Thorin?” The word came as an incoherent, involuntary mumble, and the hazy fog finally lifted enough for her to realize where she was and that she was, in fact, utterly alone on the chair she lay in.

A flickering fire on the other side of the room cut into the blackness of the night, however, as did a wash of cool white light on the floor in front of her. She looked around, a long sigh rushing through her nose at the onslaught of disappointment. It was probably too late to try to go back to sleep and chase after that dream of soft furs and a hot, bare body pressed against hers.

Then the touch happened a third time, and she almost jumped out of her skin. Of course, all that time she spent in the wilderness, listening to the coyotes circle her camp, were nothing compared to the brush of a curtain flapping in the chilly breeze coming through the open window behind her. Her feet dangled over the other arm of the chair, sticking out from the quilt she was covered in, the perfect reach for the drapes. She sighed again and looked up through the window to the full moon risen in the clear May sky.

Something stirred in another part of the room, and she glanced back toward the bed in the middle of it. She hid her uncontrollable smile behind her blanket, hoping her movement had not been noticed. Garth and Basil sat amongst the covers of the bed, his arm around her shoulders. They both stared with wide, enthralled eyes at the bundle securely nestled in Basil’s arms.

Heather Houndberry had been born just after sunset on the twentieth of May, becoming the newest addition to the clan. It was a smooth, uneventful process, mother and baby perfectly healthy and recovering quickly. Cori was the last to arrive that afternoon after having her daily repose against the back of her house to stare at the river interrupted by little Teagon, who had been sent by his mother Margow to fetch her. She had fully intended to wait with the rest of her family in her brother’s sitting room. However, Basil requested her presence in the bedroom, which left Cori baffled but responsive enough to heed Barbarella’s instructions on how to help. It was not entirely unexpected considering how close the two had grown over the past couple of years. And so Cori witnessed her first birth, sharing a teary glance with her brother on the other side of the bed as the first cries of his daughter filled the room.

There was nothing more beautiful in the world than that squalling, red-faced little girl lying on her mother’s chest.

For the rest of the night after that, Cori lay in her chair, staring up at the stars until sleep finally claimed her. Her thoughts were happy, riding on the emotions of the night, but equally perplexed. For the life of her, she could not help but contemplate endlessly on the only man who had ever evoked in her a desire for what lay in that bed. All others had put a taste for exploration in her, pushing far away the thought of actually settling down in one place for a while. But then Thorin Oakenshield crashed into her lowly little existence and created such a tizzy that her head still spun.

Cori actually smiled at the thought of a future that seemed fuzzy on the edges, because it was all right as long as he was in the center, perfectly clear.

She glanced toward the small, happy family on the bed. Did he want that, she wondered? Were they thinking the same thing at that very moment? Did _she_ want that, or at least part of it?

Her hand reached up to the pendent lying on her chest, heated by her skin. “My One,” it said. It was an honest, plain-as-day declaration, if she ever saw one. And she could say the same thing: only one would be for her.

Did she want the picture of the exhausted but happy mother and the peacefully sleeping babe? That was a decision long down the road to make. But she knew she wanted the little kisses stolen and the adoring glances shared between the couple.

And it was him, or no one.

Enough time had passed. She was nearing the end of the road, and it was looking so very enticing. Nothing left to do but put out the fire and take up her bags.

Two more days.

She giggled, elated with the giddiness of an infatuated tween.

                        *********************

Leaving Buckland and the Shire initially had not been a simple decision. There was no reason to lie to herself: had Cori not had the extra push of finding a cure for her younger brother’s mysterious illness, she had little faith that her restlessness and desire for adventure would have been enough to spur her out into the world. The first break made staying away easier, and after that, she let herself get swept away by the new sights and the lack of responsibility to anyone but herself.

Almost two decades later, with a completely different mind than she had all those years ago, Cori now realized her blunder much too late: it had been a mistake to return to her old life. What was suffocating before was now comforting, and what was boring became relaxing. The Hedge to the east no longer seemed like a cage (though she felt it a barrier metaphorically keeping her separated from her heart). What she had fought for in the Battle Out of Oatbarton—giving the hobbits back their home and peace and comfort—had extended to herself along the way. She _liked_ living here.

It scared her, really, how much she enjoyed the life she had been born to dwell in. It had not been that way for years, finding her belonging on the back of her pony as they crossed flat plains and tall mountains. So when the two days were up, flying by faster than a hawk on a swift westward breeze, Cori found friction where it should have been smooth, and she was not prepared for how hard it was to push through it.

Her family was now secure. The land bore fruit that spring, staggeringly but almost as abundantly as it used to. Everyone had a home to put their feet up in when the day ended. Buckland would be safe from starvation and exposure come winter. She was no longer needed.

For once, she had a straight answer for them. She knew where she was going, and that she would not be coming back for a very long time. They listened to her explanation, her confirmation of the rumors, and they seemed satisfied with it. Sorrowful, disturbed, but more understanding than she had anticipated them to be. So the friction came not from their opposition, but rather their agreeance. Long had Cori strove for their acceptance of her chosen lifestyle, for the leaving to be easier than it always was. Now she had it, and it still gutted her.

What a waste of time, looking for contentment and compromise. She had fulfilled her duty to her family. Now she could tend to her own happiness. Everything would just have to work out by itself.

Everyone turned up to bid her farewell. The brave, forced smiles of her parents hit terribly. There was resignation in Barbarella’s eyes; she finally had to face the reality of the path her youngest daughter had chosen. It was her own fault, building up hope as she had, but what was the use in criticizing that? The mother in her was to blame for it. Cori was absolutely certain that the woman would have given up a long time ago if not for that.

Suddenly, the charming thoughts of being a mother that she had the other night seemed less appealing and more of a burden. And that was why decisions made in such emotional circumstances were the most dangerous.

Judging by the looks on both Dugon and Dennon’s faces, she should make a run for it before they locked her up and out of the reach of anything that would take her away. Such was their burden as well. A bird in a cage was pretty to look at (and so very safe), but it was still in a cage. They had enough sense to refrain. Her sisters Margow, Chrys, and Maggie held her in mild contempt, probably bristling in defense of their mother. They would have to get over it, too. But no cross words were shared; now was not the time to repeat history.

Each tiny, sad face that looked up at her was the worst of them all, and she steeled her spine against the quivering pouts and pleading eyes of the older ones. It was not goodbye forever, she repeated to herself. There would be letters, and there would be visits when she could. It was only her giving up the chance to watch them all become prospering young adults. But Maggie was proficient with drawing, and she promised updated sketches every now and then. It would have to be enough.

She laid a kiss on the forehead of the tiny baby girl wiggling in Basil’s arms, catching a glimpse of her crisp green eyes so much like her mother’s. But a beautiful replica of Cori’s little brother in the face, and she bit into the inside of her cheek to keep her jaw still. When she pulled her newest sister in for a hug, she felt the slightest wisp of breath on her ear. “Thank you for everything.” Basil indeed was not the same little hobbit that left Tuckborough to march to war. The battle had changed her, but her resilient Tookish blood made it so that she was different for the better. Cori thought they all gained something from that whole kerfuffle.

Garth sniffed into her collar when he hugged her closely, drawing away to swipe at the wetness on his cheeks. “You saved us, Cori,” he whispered, too quietly for even his wife to hear next to them. “ _You_ did. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

They would not have been in that situation in the first place if not for her, but she could not put down the conviction in his voice.

With her full, heavy saddlebags strapped onto Shadow’s back, she swung up and pulled about to march up Berry Bunch Bend. She turned just once, looking upon the large gathering left standing in front of the replica of her childhood home, and she waved. She held fiercely onto the little piece of her heart that desperately clung to that valley, but eventually gave up and let it stay. What was the use in pretending it did not matter, just to save her some ache? Hiding from her emotions had only gained her grief in the past. It was time to start being proud of who she was, where she came from, and the experiences she had endured, both good and bad.

Just before reaching Brandy Hall, after a time of riding quietly and trying to commit the sights and smells along the way to memory, her few moments of being alone came to a halt. Sitting atop her little chestnut pony, Lisianthus Corkpolter sidled up beside her, a somber grin on her face. She also had bags hanging off the back of her saddle, and her bow sat in the special holder attached to it on her left side (Cori preferred having hers over her shoulder, in reach if she needed it). She also had a long dagger resting on her hip. A travel cloak lay across her shoulders.

“Must you go?” the golden-haired girl asked after a moment of riding side-by-side.

“No. I don’t _have_ to go anywhere. But I want to.”

She snorted. “That’s a typical ‘you’ answer.”

“Well, it’s different than, say, Darad going back to the border. He’s called by duty. I’ve got a little nagging voice in my head that won’t shup up until I give it what it wants.”

“I think you’re going crazy.”

“So do I. Keep a lookout. You’ll find yourself going mad one day, too.”

“Nah. Never got the call for such things in my tweens, and I don’t think it’s going to happen anytime soon. I’ve got other things more appealing to get a taste of.”

Cori shrugged. “Fair enough. What other things?”

A tiny smirk tugging at the girl’s lips, and Cori had a few guesses. The two of them had spent a lot of time together over the past two years, when Lizzy was not off exploring the vast reaches of Eriador. Dugon had been worried about Poppy becoming just like Cori, but the real conversion had been the small, once unassuming young woman beside her. Cori had done absolutely nothing, though. She just gave Lizzy the chance to find what she desired the most. She seemed to enjoy the wilderness more than Cori did; the drag of its dangers may not have hit her yet, and Cori chose not to spoil her fun by warning her about it. The girl had truly become a magnificent fighter and archer. She could take care of herself, which would suit her well now that she was alone, having lost her father to sickness the first winter after the attack. Cori would not worry about her.

“I hate that I won’t be here for your coming-of-age party next year.”

Lizzy hummed. “Who says I’ll be here? I’m thinking about spending it in Rivendell. That’ll be a nice excuse to travel there.”

“And how are you going to afford that after all you’ve been doing so far?”

“Papa had some money stowed away, some account from a late aunt and her husband or whatever.”

“And after that runs out?”

“I’ll come home every now and then and help my grandmother in Deephallow. She’s keeping bees right now, and the whole town’s after her honey and candles. I worked the books for Pa; I know how to manage an inheritance.”

Cori grinned, deciding to let the girl in front of her speak for herself. When somebody tried to school Cori at that age about reality, she snapped back in exactly the same way. She had over ten years of contending with the mayhem of the world by then, so no one in the Shire really could say a thing against her. Lizzy spoke from youthful exuberance and the little bit of snark she had developed recently, but she was an incredibly intelligent hobbit who soaked up knowledge like parched earth for rain. She would learn her path quickly, probably quicker than Cori, and _before_ something messed her up, too.

“Adventurer to chandler, huh?”

Lizzy pointed a finger at her. “Furrier.”

“ _And_ an adventurer, at the same time.”

“Well, we all don’t have dwarf kings falling at our feet, do we?”

If anybody, especially Thorin, thought for a second she would be indulging in his wealth without any contribution of her own, they either had not met her or falsely claimed to know her at all. She had been working her whole life; stopping would drive her to insanity. “I’ve always wanted to keep bees.”

Lizzy grinned widely. “Me, too.”

Early afternoon drew close when they approached the gate of Buckland. The sleeping attendant gave the two women some entertainment when Lizzy chucked a rock up to him and knocked him in the side of the head. He only waved when they walked through to the other side, grunting a barely coherent answer to Cori’s question. They stopped to the side of the East Road, letting their ponies munch on the tall, green grass. A moment of waiting, then.

“You’re just going to Bree?” Cori asked.

The blonde nodded. “My cousin wanted me to pick up a tool for his carpentry shop, the like of which could not be found anywhere but Bree, he said. His wife and father-in-law hate that I’ve started traveling, so he likes to make them all huffy and gripy. He was the troublemaker of the family at reunions, so he always tried to get me to laugh. Don’t think I’ve ever had a greater friend than him. Aside from you, of course.”

“Apparently, you attract a certain kind, my dear. Must have been the innocent act.”

She blushed. “It wasn’t an act.”

“It masked what was really on the inside. Just because you weren’t aware doesn’t mean it wasn’t always there.”

Her brows scrunched together, contemplating the thought as if she were looking for some kind of rebuttal. Cori grinned, perfectly confident that she would not find one. She had an innate ability to see when somebody was stuck in tradition and the expectations of others, and apparently retrieve them from it. For that reason—or so he said—she had gained the companionship of Thorin Oakenshield before any inkling of romance could be perceived, somebody who was perpetually trapped in both.

Lizzy finally sighed, looking to the other woman with pleading eyes. “I really don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not dying, honey. As long as you check your mail every now and then, I won’t be too far away.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Where is Erebor again?”

Cori laughed. _That_ was where she would put her foot down, like the guardian figure she was _not_ trying to fulfill with her. The Misty Mountains, the Wilderland, and Mirkwood lay between here and Erebor, and for all her qualities, Lizzy was not experienced enough to cover that kind of terrain, especially by herself.

They only sat in their spots for ten minutes, chatting and listening to their ponies crunch the grass, before a large mounted group appeared from down the road leading from the Brandywine Bridge. Numerous they were not, but their mass alone proved them to be dwarves. Right on schedule, too.

The one in front removed his black hood from his face, revealing hair of the same shade in an intricate braided style: two plaits on the side of his head and one larger one on the top coming together to fall down his back in a long, thick rope. His beard was done similarly, falling to about mid-chest. He was impressively built, stout as his race usually was. Cori saw on the edges of her vision that Lizzy’s eyes widened, and she fought a smile. She had dealt with enough dwarven nobles not to be shocked anymore. “Greetings, my good sir,” she pushed decorum into her voice, bending over Shadow’s withers a little.

The dwarf tilted his head down, as did the five armored guards behind him. “You are Miss Houndberry, I presume?” His gaze flickered to Lizzy briefly.

“That would be me. This is Miss Corkpolter. She will be accompanying us to Bree with her own business to attend to, if it’s not a disturbance.”

 “Not at all.” His face said differently, but he apparently had some heed toward etiquette. “With you ladies, then, I anticipate we will reach it by sundown tomorrow.”

Cori scoffed. “No need to waste time lolling about. Would you say about noon tomorrow, Lizzy? You might be able to get halfway back to Buckland by sundown.”

The girl patted her pony’s neck. “He hasn’t had a good run in a while. I’d say I could probably make it back here by last light.”

The dwarf watched the exchange with mounting irritation, but in the end, still managed to rein in whatever would have exploded otherwise. Cori suddenly found a bit of respect for the man, despite his earlier presumptions, since he seemed to have found the value of an even temper that his kin still struggled to grasp. “Very well. Iren, son of Irror, at your service. And at your warrant, Miss Houndberry, we will take up a quicker pace. I am also eager to reach our destination.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The dwarf gestured to his men, and they turned back onto the East Road. The two hobbits fell in at the back of the party just as the ponies kicked up into a trot, and without any ceremony, they were off.

A moment of quiet passed, broken only by the soft murmurings of the guards, and Cori turned to her companion. As soon as their eyes met, they both sputtered into giggling fits hidden behind their fists. It only lasted a few seconds, and they sat up straight again, ignoring the looks from the two dwarves right in front of them.

“What’s this about?” Lizzy asked, gesturing over her pony’s ears.

Cori smirked. “Iren, son of Irror. Politician on the court of Lord Barres of the city of Ereven in the Blue Mountains. Chief trade negotiator, if I recall the long list of his attributes I was given. Served on the court when the king ruled as the lord of Ereven, so he’s viewed as exceedingly trustworthy by my intransigent and tutelary dwarven admirer.”

“You sound like the elves.”

“And how would you know what elves sound like?”

The girl pursed her lips, obviously hiding a grin. So she had been to the Grey Havens, then.

“I’m practicing courtly speech. Even the royal mistress has to show some kind of mannerly deportment.”

“Giver, stop!”

Cori laughed raucously. “Thorin wanted me to have an escort to Erebor. Nothing more than a fortunate coincidence that Iren was traveling there to sign some treaties and agreements and what have you. Serves me right for announcing that I was coming. And, as a considerate partner, I decided not to give him something else to worry about on top of _everything_ in the world that he already carries; he’s going grey before his time, I’m afraid.” But she would not admit how often those silver strands kept her up at night.

“Seems a pleasant fellow,” Lizzy murmured when her pony leaned toward Shadow a little.

“The last time I tried to judge somebody before I really got to know them, they ended up learning things about me that I hadn’t told my own siblings. I don’t actually think we’ll be so chummy by the end of this, but trust me, I’ve had worse first impressions from his ilk.”

“Sure you don’t want me coming along?”

“Are you sure you _want_ to?”          

She turned back to the dwarves, nose scrunched. “You know how to deal with them. I bet you’ll be fine.”

Cori chuckled with a shake of her head. “‘Dealing’ with them. Yep, that I do.”

                *********************

The journey turned out to be a rather lonely affair.

After Lizzy parted from the group, going in the opposite direction the morning of their departure from Bree, Cori spent several nights with her own thoughts, weapons tending, and fur sowing (she had taken back up the old craft after a few rides into the forests of the Northfarthing). It would have been a favorable scenario, had she actually been alone.

The dwarves ignored her, aside from making sure she was fed. There was no contempt behind their behavior, and surprisingly no truly suspicious glares like she usually got when in close proximity to dwarves talking about their own matters. They just acted as if she was not there. She hardly expected companionship from her escorts, especially considering they were of the more secretive variety, judging by the considerable decrease in volume whenever she returned after stepping away from camp for a moment. It was exactly what she had grown use to during her first years as a frequenter of their halls. Except, now, she sympathized with their secrecy rather than berated them for what she thought to be rude and completely unnecessary behavior. Unnecessary may still apply, but she knew where they were coming from now.

It was just that, the last time she was in such a situation with dwarves in a camp, she had not been shunned. In fact, she was welcomed whole-heartedly.

The outcome of her previous journey across Middle-earth with dwarves had been completely unforeseeable and, for her, entirely out of the blue. There was absolutely no reason that this time would be the same. But here she was, around a campfire, listening to dwarves chuckle and exchange stories, and she had no idea she could miss something so much as that little company she had no intention of becoming a part of. It left an ache in her chest. When they all bedded down for the night, she rolled away from the fire pit and stared into the darkness surrounding them. She listened to the cacophonous snores, and her eyes closed, allowing her to pretend for just those few moments before sleep that she would wake up in the morning to familiar faces.

She could not think of a time in her life that was more rewarding than those few short months almost three years ago.

Then, one day, Iren seemed to realize she was there. Now, if he had jumped at her with questions backed by the same youthful enthusiasm that directed the princes of Erebor in their attempts to get to know her, she probably would have considered it heat stroke from all the layers he piled on, especially as the days grew warmer. They were nothing more than cordial pleasantries that, at the most, acknowledged her presence. And, with the unsettling glares from the guards to tack on with it, she most certainly did not feel “a part” of them. However, it was good to exercise her voice on somebody other than the little murmurings she did to Shadow.

Of course, a lot of his inquiries, though idly asked, involved personal information that neither he nor any of his men would have disclosed to her had she turned their curiosity back toward them. Family, occupation, opinions on certain whisperings about evil brewing in Middle-earth. A little bit of the old ire in her rose, and she remembered that, just as there were those like the heirs of Durin who had slightly more tact, she had not necessarily misinterpreted what she saw in dwarven halls all those years. People like that just were not the exception to the rule, her friends were.

And she could see exactly what he was doing. He knew who she was to Thorin—who had not heard?—and he was trying to gauge her. Find some unworthiness that could be useful in petitioning for her dismissal. She answered. There was nothing to hide, and she wanted to hide nothing. Thorin had chosen her despite all she had done, and as he had already demonstrated, it would take more than public disapproval for him to give up entirely on something he wanted (Yavanna, he _wanted_ her). She owed the people nothing, but she would give them what they wanted. No need to lock antlers with everyone all the time.

As it was, the professional nature of their comradery kept her out of their minds and thoughts, and unless she wanted a more unpleasant remainder of their journey, she could not try to find out the same information they asked of her. Odds were, their impassiveness would slip into resentment. They already seemed to not trust her as it was.

But they had yet to see the most dangerous part of their journey.

She trusted Thorin’s word and his incite. He would not allow her to travel these roads with any shady characters. However, she had not lost her sense of self-preservation just yet. These dwarves had every opportunity in those mountains to dispose of the controversial mistress to their king without consequences or blame; the Misty Mountains claimed victims in the most mysterious ways all the time. And, from what she had seen so far (or not seen), they had not proven exactly which way they could potentially lean. But Cori had been cheated, lied to, and accosted more times than she could count in the sixteen straight years she spent on the road, and no one had ever succeeded in taking her out.

All those blockages, however, seemed to be solved when one problem emerged.

They reached the mountains in a little over a month. The Bruinin was difficult to cross, swollen high and rough with mountain run-off. And while the temptation to suggest a visit to the Valley of Imladris was strong, she knew the reception to such an idea would be an even stronger backhand. It had been so long since she was there, though. Five years, maybe? But she was in a hurry.

They came to the foothills of the mountains without incident. The valleys dipped and crested in smooth, rolling waves, easily passable for a group of any physical quality, so highly-skilled warriors had no trouble. However, as the cliff walls rose high and angular into the sky, Iren and his navigator spent a good portion of the day stopping, staring across the landscape, and switching paths. Clearly, this was new territory they had not entered before: Ered Luin-born dwarves, then. Cori would have stopped them if they were entirely off course, eager to get to the other side, but they still somehow managed to go in the correct general direction, so she let them be and watched with a grin. It was better to let them come to their own conclusions rather than try to force it onto them anyway.

After slowly creeping eastward for three days, Iren halted his company on the top of a slope, which had an incredible view of the mountains still capped white with snow. The men took their break while he stared. Finally, he jerked his pony around and approached her, brow drawn in with frustration. “Miss Houndberry, you say you’ve traveled these roads before?”

She nodded around a mouthful of dried fruit. “Aye, that I have.”

“You know a quick, negotiable way through the mountains, then?”

“I would be happy to show you. You need only ask.”

He did not seem to acknowledge that she had said nothing so far, most likely because he thought he would not need to call on her. Neither did she say anything of how she watched him flounder for days, letting him keep his dignity. She grinned when his back was turned to call his troop off their break. It was always a joy to watch his kind be brought down a peg.

The dwarves trailed after her as she marched into the pass that usually kept her out of the bitter cold from the high slopes and, if weather rolled in, provided ample cover to duck under. It was a dried-up river bed that cut about halfway through the mountain range, rising only a little on the eastern side. It usually saw her out on the other side in about five days, depending on the time of year. For once, it was warm when the sun beamed down on them from overhead, but that rarely lasted long enough to be worth anything.

Of course, Cori had their suspicion most of the time. More than once, she heard a few guess that a turn she made would lead them into a trap that would see them buried alive beneath unstable rock. Or she would lead them around in circles until their supplies ran out. She fought vigorously with the urge to remind them that, in both scenarios, she would also be affected. Or that, were she to show up at Erebor without them, her chances of proving her innocence would be very slim (contrasted with them, who could get away with leaving her here). All of it bounced off of her, though. As long as she was their only way out, she would be safe from any discarding attempts, and that was all she really cared about.

All within the party seemed to let out a sigh of relief once the slopes became more gradual and easily managed by the ponies. Though it certainly was worth celebrating, Cori wondered if the true test was still ahead: Mirkwood.

“You’ve a talent I haven’t seen in any of your kin, Miss Houndberry,” Iren said as they looked at the jagged shapes of the mountains behind them. With all the danger behind them, she could actually stop and look at the majestic peaks rising into the sky. She was also filled with exhilaration that they were more than halfway to Erebor.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she replied. “Hobbits tend to surprise even those who’ve spent much time with them. If you think navigating a path I’ve taken several times is a talent, you haven’t seen many hobbits in action. We may not have the same merits and strengths as you dwarves, but we have our own, and they’re worth just as much as any other virtue in their own right.”

He glanced up to her; she had yet to really talk out of turn with any of them, so he obviously had not been expecting that kind of an answer. Still, he shrugged, a hint of a smile in his beard. “Sensible. You’ve sustained yourselves for this long, so I suppose you’re due some credit.”

“There you go, Master Iren. Thinking outside of the box.”

He chuckled. Then he lifted his head where he watched the fire and studied her for the umpteenth time in the last several weeks. She wondered when he would reach an adequate conclusion, because it was starting to get quite tiring. Finally, he sighed and nodded. “Continue to surprise me, Miss Hobbit, and I might find out why our king has so readily fallen under your spell.”

That was the first time he or anyone had directly mentioned her relationship. It sounded like a challenge, if she ever heard one. “It’s hobbit magic, good sir. A well-kept secret.” She decided against mentioning her much diluted Took blood and the rumor about fairies coupled with that family. It may not be taken as lightly.

He did not take her seriously, it seemed, but smiled. “There’s something to you. That I can see.”

 _Let’s just hope others see the same thing_ , she thought, boldly interpreting the pleasantness on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took WAY longer to get out than I expected. I've been incredibly busy since Saturday, as my new college has new students doing a four-day long orientation process. It's tedious and tiring (I have no energy to write when I get home), but I'm making friends and we're all lamenting about it together, so it's not a total loss.   
> Anyway, the dwarves we want are coming soon, but I promise this is important for later in the story. Just hold on for next chapter. ;) Love you guys! <3


	4. Stirrings

Cori was spoilt now.

It took several long internal debates with herself over the course of a greater number of days than she felt comfortable admitting to finally come to that conclusion, but in the end, she decided that she should just accept it, however difficult it actually was. Making a decision to do something, though, and actually going through with it were two entirely different things. Never in her entire life had she ever had reason to call herself spoilt. A farmer’s daughter in a land having no shortage of farmers (fierce competition there was concerning food in the Shire), and a fur trader living hand-to-mouth and constantly watching her back for the next bandit to notice her wares and purse. Luxurious indeed.

However, it was that transition from living on the road to having a roof over her head, an actual hearth to curl up in a chair by, and filling food that did her in, or so she could tell. There could be no mistake: she missed something about sleeping beneath the stars every night and seeing new sights every single day. The adjustment back was not arduous to make at all, and she hardly ever had the disposition to complain about the hard ground or the bland meat of a thin hare to begin with. She had learned to suck it up early on. But a fine wine she had indulged in over the past two years, and one could hardly go back to cheap ale after tasting the silkier things without feeling the absence.

It was only a reprieve that she desired, for the call of the Wild still echoed through her blood. And there was only one place she could think of between the Misty Mountains and the Greenwood that had just what she was looking for.

Of course, her companions chose the role of spoilsport.

“No diversions,” Iren said after she broached the idea to him. “We must make it to Erebor on schedule. The matters to be discussed with the king are crucial.”

“We’re not going out of the way,” she replied with a tiny lilt of annoyance in her voice that she could not cover. “I’m just as eager as you are to get there. It’ll only be for a night, no longer than if we stopped in the middle of the woods. We’ll pass right by it, so we might as well stop in.” Maybe she left out the bit where, in his blind tailing of her through the mountains, she had tweaked their path just a little to make that happen. Not terribly important, right?

“I haven’t been told of this man. I won’t sleep in his house.”

“Beorn is a friend. He will welcome me, and you by virtue of association. Come on. He’s got great food.”

The others in the group perked up at the sound of that, but prudently chose to keep their mouths shut. None had dared cross their leader’s word in front of him so far, so they just dwelled in their disappointment from the impending refusal and stared dejectedly in front of them.

“That’s a no, Miss Houndberry, and my final one. I suggest you leave it there.”

She snorted. After all the interrogations he had subjected her to over the last couple of months, he had not seemed to learn a single applicable thing about her. She played the perfect mannerly follower since leaving Buckland, deciding that a group of armed guards was handy to have when readily supplied with the uncertainty of orcs still scattered across the land. And it would make Thorin happy. He was just going to have to deal. They were across the Anduin, and the dwarves had exhausted their usefulness.

“Then leave I will.”

He turned back to her, brow tight. Obviously, her wording had confused him. “You will what?”

“Leave,” she shrugged. “You have been a magnificent help, Master Iren, truly. I’m extremely grateful for the service you’ve offered me, and I hope I can offer you something in return once we’re both in Erebor.” _That will be handsomely covered by Thorin, no doubt._ “But I made a vow to my friend that I would stop in the next time I came through, and I intend to fulfill that vow. You, as a dwarf, should understand how prodigious that is, so I know you’ll be supportive and wish me luck on my little detour.”

Iren stopped his pony, studying her. He looked for the jest. Found none, it would seem. “I cannot leave you alone out here. Not when I’ve been charged with—”

“You’ve done your duty, as far as I can tell. The king will understand when we tell him I chose to make my own path. He won’t be surprised, I swear.”

He scrambled for words, trying to discern where this easy assignment had possibly gone wrong. She bit her cheek to suppress the grin that strained to be let out. “I can’t…”

“Oh, come now. Somebody wasn’t listening when I described all my exploits in my youth, at your goading. Sixteen years traveling on my own, dealing with wild animals and wild vagabonds all the same. A few miles’ stroll in the woods is no task at all. I’ll only stay a night or two, and I’ll catch right up. Shadow’s light on his feet.”

He stared at her, demanding with just his eyes why she was doing this to him. Somebody should have warned the poor guy before he took the job. He seemed to realize how much he was losing this battle. He sighed into his beard. “If I say no again, you’ll run, won’t you?”

“Of course not! You’ll just have to restrain me. I can promise you that you’ll lose a day at least in your efforts.” She shrugged. “You’re the only one making me a bother here.”

He rolled his eyes skyward. “Fine, fine. But you _will_ take the blame if the king learns.”

“Oh, I’ll tell him. We don’t keep secrets.” She turned her pony away before he could get another word in, urging him eastward. “Don’t wait up! I can find my own way!”

If she bent over Shadow’s withers and nearly suffocated from laughter after moving just out of sight, it would take some serious motivation to get her to confess.

There was something…freeing about dropping some baggage, especially when it consistently gave her the stink eye. She wondered if there was any way she could continue on to Erebor on her own terms without running the risk of actually catching up to them. A different path, maybe. The only cleared one was the Old Forest Road, which she gave them the directions to after a quick look at Iren’s map the night before. She would not trust the elven road even with an elven guide, after all she had heard about it. She could pass them. That would throw them for a loop once they arrived at Erebor. Oh, she would love to see their faces. The only alternative was staying a day behind them, which would be no fun at all.

Of course, in all her daydreaming and scheming, she was not prepared for Shadow to leap into the air like a grasshopper. “Whoa, son!” she crooned, clinging to his thick neck for all she was worth. Thankfully, after a few seconds of dancing, he calmed enough for her to regain control. Only then did she realize the blockage in their path that had terrified her pony so. “That wasn’t nice.”

Grinning, the large man pushed away from the tree he leaned against and lumbered toward her. “He does not remember me,” his low growl of a voice rumbled. Somehow, as if he were not actually a bear disguised as a man, Beorn managed to make himself less threatening enough to approach Shadow without causing another uproar.

“I don’t imagine he’d remember much when he thinks he’s about to get eaten. Nor do I remember any of those pleasant conversations we had now that you’ve nearly killed me.”

He chuckled, amusement twinkling in his kind eye. “There’s that fire.”

She made a noise of a sizzling spark before dismounting and brushing a soothing hand under Shadow’s mane. “I figured you’d be at home. We’ve been in your territory for a while, so I didn’t think you’d caught on.”

“But I did.” He led the way out of the forest and into the clearing that opened up toward the front of his home. “I’ve been tracking dwarves for a few hours, but I did not know you were among them. Their scent overwhelmed yours.”

Now _that_ was a statement she could get behind. “And how do you know now that I was with them?”

“It clings to you like morning dew to the grass.”

She shrugged. Fair enough. “Haven’t dwarves been coming to and from the Lonely Mountain for years now? Doesn’t it ever get tiring, chasing after them all the time?”

“I had not been doing it before. But I have reason to be cautious now.”

Her brow pinched together. “Because of what happened two years ago? That whole debacle was taken care of. Men were behind it, not orcs or anyone else, and we took care of them. There should be no troubles anymore.”

“Obvious threats, no. But it is the ones that come where you least expect them that make the greatest significance.”

“You sound like that damned wizard. Have you been taking riddle-speak lessons with him?”

“Come,” he ushered, his gigantic hand hovering just over her back. “Take care of your pony, then we will talk once you’ve been fed.”

Anyone else, and that would have sounded like a deflection. But Beorn was a good host above all else, even to those he would rather not have as guests. She could count herself one of the lucky few who were welcome, so she chose not to let the opportunity slip out of her hand. This was, after all, one of the reasons she chose to stop in.

Shadow fit right in with the rest of Beorn’s herd, however ridiculously out of place he looked. And Cori, just the same, could see herself getting really cozy here. The mission against Ryone saw them coming through here in the dead of winter when everything was dull and had been for months already. However, this time, it was the middle of summer, and the sight of Beorn’s garden sucked the breath out of her.

Everything was in full bloom, just as it had been in the Shire when she left. Striking out above all others was the bright marigolds, their yellows brought forward in the afternoon sun. No shortage of yarrow lay about, but they added a consistency that made sure there was no empty space anywhere. She could smell the lavender even from a few yards away. It smelled like her own garden back home.

She stopped and stared at it, feeling the breeze catch her warm face and listening to the rustling of the branches in the wide oak trees all around. Her lips pulled downward. One more time, just before leaving Buckland, she had gone back to Ered Luin, settling the negotiations and confirming final payments until she handed over her responsibilities to someone else. In the vast, grand halls of Durmark, she walked with Bern, exploring the deep places that held fascinating gems and glimmering silver and gold. They drank in the tavern, sparred in the training circle, and swapped stories from years gone by. She had the time of her life there, and when she had to leave, she found herself wishing she could spend just one more day there.

Then she remembered that she was leaving for Erebor a month later, a place that could trounce even the finest that the Blue Mountain cities had to offer, and her insatiable curiosity nearly had her packing her bags as soon as she got home and galloping east the whole way. What a twist that the homes of the dwarves had become so exciting to her, when only a few years earlier, they nearly suffocated her. But as she looked at the grass, and the trees, and the bees hovering around the flowers, she felt a tugging in her belly, the sensation that could only be sated by digging her hands into the cool earth and helping it grow something beautiful.

It felt like homesickness.

She tore her eyes away from the flower beds and walked into Beorn’s house.

As he promised, he had blackberry tea cakes sitting on a fire-warmed plate, with some kind of fragrant herbal drink to accompany it that had a hint of honey. She ate her fill at his invitation, sampling the raspberry jam that came with the cakes. The man could make a fortune selling his baking in the right place. Oh, but then he would have to surround himself with people. A strong deterrent, she knew. “So, back to our earlier discussion,” she said with her ravenousness satisfied. “What threats are you anticipating this time?”

“The orcs have scattered,” he replied, lowering himself into his chair across from her perch on top of his table. “The battle between them and the dwarves that took place the winter you last came through here have reduced their influence. Gone into hiding, I imagine. No, they are not the cause.”

“Cause of what?”

“There has been unrest at the mountain. I have heard of no major occurrences, like a compromised political figure or the sort, but things have not seemed peaceful for many moons now.”

“So,” she interrupted, unable to ignore her racing heart. “No one’s died?”

He smiled gently. “When I suggested whether or not you were fond of your companions three winters ago, you denied it.”

“At the time, they weren’t exactly my favorite people, no.” She glanced down toward her feet, feeling her face and neck warm. “I guess you could say the king is now my…most favorite.”

One bushy brow lifted. “Is he? That explains why you are all the way out here again.”

She glared playfully. “Or business.”

“Oakenshield is whole, as far as I know. However, I believe whatever is going on has been kept hidden deep in their halls. I do not think even the wood elves know of what is happening. Of course, they would need to come out of their own realm to hear.”

Cori took in a soft gasp. “If no one outside of the dwarves is aware of what’s going on, then that must mean it’s an internal affair.”

He nodded. “So I am wary. Even if they are having disputes amongst themselves only, it could easily have an impact on the rest of the world. I would advise caution when you are with those you do not know.”

She scowled at her feet. “I don’t know if Ered Luin’s heard anything. I have friends in high places and they’ve said nothing to me about it.”

Beorn shrugged. “Either they do not know or they are involved and wish you not to know.”

Bern was not in it. He was not the type to go about scheming. “Thorin would have told me if there was anything to worry about.”

“Perhaps. But, as I said, the details are lost to me, as are his standings within it all. I will not tell you ‘do not go,’ for I imagine he is very protective of you.”

“Stiflingly.”

“For all I know of dwarves and their ‘treasures,’ I wonder why it is you are not there already.”

“Circumstances called us into separate directions. We didn’t have a choice. Well, I did and I didn’t. It’s complicated.”

“I do hope you know what you are doing, little one,” he said with slight apprehension. His dark eyes were soft with care. “There are some who will not take to you as well as others have.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m perfectly aware of those kind. They can have their opinions so long as that’s all it remains.”

“Then I do not feel the need to send you back the way you came for your own good. You are, however, forbidden to leave until you’ve rested.”

A terrible fright she must have been to see. “I’m going to confess, Master Beorn, I was counting on your generous hospitality, seeing as I’ve sent my companions on ahead of me.”

“Then it seems I’m stuck with you.” He grinned widely, lithely rising from his chair. “I will show you where you can sleep tonight. Unless you prefer the hay of the floor like last time.”

“I don’t have eleven leeches, so no, thank you. I’ll take whatever you’ve got to offer.”

Settling on the straw-filled pillows stuffed into the loft over the barn that evening, Cori absently played with the pendent on her neck and thought around and around. She replayed parts of her talk with Beorn, realizing that some of what she said, though coming from sincerity, was also knee-jerk. If things were happening at Erebor, and Beorn was able to hear about it all the way over here and as isolated as he was, why on earth had Thorin not told her? Surely, if it was anything to be concerned about, he would have told her to stay in the Shire; she would not have, but the facts remained the same.

Unsettled, she stared through the window across the rafters in front of her, contemplating her next moves. She had to get to Erebor quickly, just in case.

                       *****************

Speedy little bastards.

Apparently, the trek through the mountains had been too slow to their liking, especially after the brisk pace they set traveling the East Road. What in this world did they possibly have to discuss with Thorin that called for so much urgency? Did they anticipate him kicking the bucket before they got there? Mahal willing, they still had decades before that would be a concern. Even they could figure out that autumn was still a good ways off, too.

Cori had a good laugh to herself when she considered that they were probably running from her. With the assurance that they would not take any heat for leaving her, they could escape any further outbursts of impulsiveness, or anything more colorful or chauvinistic she could come up with that might have filled their heads when they parted. She still could not get Iren’s flabbergasted stare out of her head, and it left her giggling at random intervals.

After leaving Beorn’s house, Cori followed the tracks of a group of ponies down the banks of the Anduin. Judging by the distance between prints that belonged to the same animal, they had picked up into a trot. There would be very little challenge in catching up, but she did not want to waste Shadow just to return to another reminder that she was not traveling with the dwarves she truly wanted to be with, nor would she ever again, probably. She was just fine spending this last month or so alone.

If she put aside everything that had happened since the last time she was in the East, she could easily lie back on her “saddle pillow,” glance between the small flame in the pit and the wide open starry sky, and pretend this was another routine business run to the Iron Hills and the Lonely Mountain. No strings, no terrifyingly thrilling future. Just her and the road. Those fifteen years brought some horrible things to her life, but she would not trade what she had experienced during that time for anything. She would not be who she was now: what she would be doing in Buckland was obvious—tending the fields, going to market weekly, and raising a family—but who she would be as a person was something she could think of for hours and never come close to envisioning.

But then she thought about if the last three years had not happened. She would not be free of Ryone’s ghost always hanging over her shoulder. The stubbornness and secrecy of the dwarves would still grate at her nerves, feeding her self-concocted false truths about them, and she would never have known what amazing, loyal friends they could be. She would not have fallen in love. In the end, it was worth every little tear it left in her soul.

Stepping into Mirkwood was difficult, especially now that she was by herself. A shadow of its influence on her remained, and the fog in her mind held a greater strength than she recalled. It was getting worse. But the road was easier still, the path marked clearly by hard-packed dirt and the abrupt line where the forest ended and began again on the other side. Before she even realized how long she had been in there, the exit from the forest loomed in front of her. With it came the sweet relief of fresh air that was no less welcome than it had been when she was going the other way. A simple, uneventful trek through the gloomy forest was a boon she could not have predicted, and something told her it had to do with the watchful eyes on her back the entire way through. The elves were good. She did not notice them until the third day.

As she followed the River Running north, she crested a hill that laid the land out before her. Out from a small patch of bareness amongst the trees trickling out from Mirkwood, she saw the dwarves ambling along. Good. They had not managed to get themselves lost at any point. She paced them, keeping her distance yet still able to catch a glimpse of them every now and then. It was more fun than it should have been, pretending to stalk them while they had no idea.

Oh, yes. Something from that sick, infested wood had surely stuck with her.

A bright sunny day it was, four months after her departure from Buckland, when she entered the city of Dale, an impressive resurrection from ruins. Surely it had never been so busy and bustling even before the dragon’s first attack. The streets were filled to capacity with so many more people than before, and Shadow despised all the weaving and noise. Reconstruction was nearly complete, if she had to guess, and the end result was stunning. Quite difficult it was, however, to appreciate it when all she wanted to do was stare up at the mountain rising high into the sky above the towers and structures she rode beneath. Always such an imposing sight, the Lonely Mountain, visible from hundreds of miles off. Strong and regal.

Like the man that controlled it.

As she neared the northern end of the city, dodging the throngs of people perusing through the stalls of the marketplace, she noticed many of them looking toward the mountain as well, as if they did not live beside it every single day. A few pointed toward it and murmured into one another’s ear. Soon, the entire square was clambering for a glimpse at whatever spectacle was taking place, hardly mindful of the small hobbit riding amongst them. Cori forced Shadow through the crowd, pushing people aside when they refused to move or were unluckily less vigilant than they should have been. When she finally got to a point that allowed her a view of the great gates into the mountain city, she saw absolutely nothing.

_What the devil is wrong with them_? she thought, staring at the many troubled faces around her. Someone on the outside could only guess what went on within the covert homes and lives of dwarves, so a city of Men would clearly be curious about their reclusive neighbors, as nosy for others’ business as they were. But it looked as if they knew something was going to happen, and they had only to wait for it to find out. She had no time to ponder the oddness of this race for the hundredth time in her life, so she continued on through, her “beg pardons” becoming growls that did not match the polite words they spoke.

She was just about to escape through the gate when an opening presented itself to her. Of course, her ease of passage just had to end when she came to populated places and not in the wilderness with the hungry animals. A hand darted into view and grabbed her reins, yanking them to the side. Shadow reared in surprise, pulling against the new, sharp pressure on the bit, and Cori instinctively struck out with her foot. Her aim was true, catching the armored guard under the jaw. “Piss off!”

Holding his face with one hand, he glared right back at her. “No one leaves the city.”

_Blasted humans and their demands._ She weaved back and forth, trying to get past him and another soldier that approached to help. “Unless you want me to give you a new eye, one that looks like a shaft of wood with a feather on the end, you’re going to move out of my way and thank me kindly for visiting your city, _sir._ ”

The bruised soldier sneered, the death grip on her pony growing tighter. “Orders from King Bard. No one leaves Dale this way until the situation at the mountain is assessed.”

“What situation? I don’t see anything.”

“Something’s happening inside.”

“Good to know. All the more reason to let go of my pony.” He stood firm, enduring Shadow’s dancing. “Fine. Warned you,” she growled, reaching for her sword.

“What’s going on here?”

Both hobbit and man looked toward a nearby archway framed by pillars as a dark-haired, finely-dressed gentleman marched through, flanked by four other soldiers. He stopped when he realized who it was his man currently held in custody, eyes widening. “Miss Hobbit? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“King Bard?” she inquired, retrieving her reins again.

“I am he.”

“Cori Houndberry. Friend and ally to the dwarves of Erebor. And as such, I’ll be leaving your city to check on those inside, if there is something going on. I don’t need your permission, but it would make things a whole lot easier for all of us if you just let me go.”

He scrutinized her from head to toe. “You know Bilbo Baggins?”

Apparently, he had no idea how large or populated the Shire was, because it would be absolutely absurd to assume that one Man knew another in this wide world. But whatever got her through this silly blockade faster. “A good friend, actually. And neither of us is of the mind to let ill befall the dwarves on our watch, so if you would, sir, call off your pack.”

A flicker of a smile danced on the man’s face. Finally, he nodded, gesturing to the soldier to back away. “As you wish. Be cautious. We haven’t a clue what’s going on in there, only that there were reports of fighting seen on the battlements.”

_Don’t these guys know dwarves?_ Sounded like Dwalin exercising creativity for training drills. “I’ll keep my eyes open, thank you.” Nodding curtly in hopes of conveying her irritation at this delay, she turned to gallop out of town and up the road to the Lonely Mountain’s entrance.

However, despite her speculation of a passive explanation for seeing dwarves going at each other, the closer she drew to the bridge, the louder the sounds of battle became. Coming to a stop in front of the gate, she listened up over the wall above her: loud grunts and the clattering of steel echoed against the slopes of the mountain. Through the diagonal gaps in the stone wall, she could see dwarves moving about with violent sweeps of their weapons.

She froze. There was no mistaking the sound of people dying.

Whatever guards usually posted on the outside of the gate were now inside, fighting. There was no one there to let her in, and the gate was sealed shut. _They’re going to make me try to find their little hidden door, aren’t they?_ Very little doubt that it was locked, too.

Suddenly, startling both her and Shadow, a rope flew from the top of the battlements and swung down over the bridge, resting just at the perfect height for her. No one waited at the rope’s origin. The fighting continued on. Well, no one said getting into the mountain would be as easy as it was the first time; how ridiculous of her to assume that just because she had been in the king’s bed a few times. “Don’t you go running off with my stuff now,” she ordered Shadow, letting the reins drop to the ground before running up to the gate. It was time to call upon the muscles she earned from all that manual labor in the Shire. Pulling herself up took little time at all. The pause came when she crested the top of the wall.

Erebor soldiers in full battle armor fought against what looked to be regular citizens of the city. However, that hardly hindered their skills. Both sides were evenly matched and just as bent on killing the other. She watched a soldier clobber a snarling dwarf in the head with the blunt side of an ax, trying to figure out how this could have all gone so wrong.

Iron flashed in the sunlight in front of her, and she had just enough time to duck out of the way before a sword fell onto the rope she clung to. The strands frayed out beneath the blade, and the dwarf behind it stared at her with wild, menacing eyes. Her hand flew down to grasp her own sword, but not before an ax came to rest in the back of his skull. She stopped. That ax looked very familiar. The owner appeared from behind the dwarf and wrenched it out of his head, offering her a hand. “Welcome back, lass,” Dwalin growled with a wide, bloodthirsty grin, taking her hand.

“Dwalin!” The warrior leaned back just in time to avoid a sword slicing through his throat. In one fluid movement, he effortlessly tugged her over the wall, spun her around until she tucked into his opposite side, and lifted his ax to halt another overhead attack.

“Now, lass!”

Cori ripped her sword from her hip and thrust it into the side of their opponent. He dropped to their feet, the sword clanging out of his hand onto the tone. “What on earth is happening?” she burst out, staring down at the first dwarf she had ever killed. It settled poorly, but also disturbingly calmly. _I’ve killed too much_

Her arm jerked, and she spun once more until she was engulfed by a crushing set of bulging arms. A wheezing laugh escape her, and she squeezed back as well as she could. “I don’t quite know if this was the right time, lass, but I’m certainly not going to say it was the wrong one either. Still got it, dontcha?”

Her rare sparing lessons with Bern paid off in keeping up Dwalin’s hard work from the journey. “The will to live? Absolutely.”

“Attack from the inside,” he finally answered her original question, sweeping both sides of the battlements to make sure they were covered. “A distraction, though I can’t imagine what they’re trying to get at.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied dryly. “What could dwarves possibly be after in a kingdom sitting on top of halls upon halls of gold and treasure?”

“Thought you were past prejudices.”

“Where’s Thorin?”

“Left him with some guards. They were trying unsuccessfully to keep him in one of the back rooms. You know how he is.”

_Sure do._ “How do we tell who’s on our side and who’s not?”

“Well, don’t attack anyone with armor on. If they run at you with a weapon, I’d say they ain’t looking for a hug. If you’re not sure, just don’t stick anyone. Stay close. I’ll watch your back.”

She had no doubt he had it.

Once the battlements were clear, they made their way back down to the main level. Cori swallowed against a lump in her throat at what she saw. The front hall had been the most beautiful and grand part of the city she had seen during her first step into the city, but it now lay as a pit of blood and death. Only a little while ago, dwarves from all over Middle-earth banded together to take down a common enemy. They were one singular body on the same side, so tuned into each other that their strikes were doubly effective. Now, they were turning on each other, and it was chaos as they matched each other blow-for-blow. They would probably be doomed to fight until the end of time. However, the soldiers had an advantage with their armor, so hits just bounced back while they cut into the vulnerable ones. There was no contest; it had to be a distraction for something.

As soon as Cori and Dwalin hit the ground, several dwarves went for Dwalin at one time, but they were no match as he swung Grasper in an arc with a terrifying growl. Or was it Keeper? Cori grinned. Hugging her as if she would break to absolutely devastating his enemies in the span of only a moment; time to face it: dwarves were her new allure. Making sure to stay out of range of the deadly pendulum, she took on a dwarf with wild black hair that had easily been knocked aside by Dwalin’s initial swipe. One swipe of his sword upward rattled her arm when she blocked it. Bern had been rough, at her command, but he had not wanted to kill her. This was new territory.

With a guttural roar, he knocked her sword from her hand, the tip of his blade creating a slit in the top of her hand. With the assistance of the distraction, he reached forward and took her by the hair. The tip of his sword pressed under her chin, and she glared back at him. He just smirked, sweeping her closely. “You must be her. The halfling everyone’s been going on about. You’re something special, I gather, but I’m not impressed.” He twisted the blade around, and she felt a small prick into her skin. “I wonder what would happen if you were to die right now.”

She threw her boot up into the dip between his legs, rejoicing at her lucky aim. _A male is a male._ He growled fiercely, throwing her to the side in his rage. She stumbled, arms flailing to right herself as she plunged headfirst into a crowd. However, a hand latched onto hers just as she was about to dive onto the floor, jarringly pulling her into another hard body. She suddenly found herself clutching the coat of the golden-haired crown prince of Erebor as he swung his sword in an efficient strike at an opponent she had dodged in her staggering. When he gained his victory, he stared down at her with a knicker-dropping smile. “Need some assistance, my fine lady?”

She pushed him by the chest, pouting as he let out a roaring laugh. Then she lunged again, pulling him close and planting a firm kiss on his cheekbone. Hardly the time, but she had almost been run through a moment earlier. He still drove that old fear away. “Fíli.”

“I guess it’s me saving you this time, huh?”

“Don’t go thinking you’re even, now.”

“Blood debts can never be settled, _namadith._ But I won’t even come close to making good if we stand here any longer.” He ducked a wild swing, meeting the attacker’s thrust with hardly any effort.

“I’m counting on your best efforts,” she called, dashing away before she could attract anymore unwanted attention. Her sword slid underneath trampling boots, but she still had yet to put her best talent to use.

Jumping onto the base of a large pillar, she drew her bow from its usual place across her chest and yanked an arrow from over her shoulder. _Aim for the ones bare as babes,_ she told herself, wincing as the cut on her hand stretched with her draw. The string twanged upon release, and the point buried deep into a dwarf’s neck. His opponent looked at her in surprise, but within his bushy beard, he grinned and nodded before moving onto the next one. She drew again, blood flowing down her wrist, and three more times, her points hitting their marks. From her vantage point, she could see that there were not just Erebor soldiers in the midst of the fighting. Iron Hills armor floated about; Dáin must have been visiting, though the striking red-haired dwarf lord was nowhere to be seen. They had this one in the bag.

Sure enough, the remaining rebels were easily put down or apprehended, and the fighting slowly came to a halt until the large hall was filled with nothing but harsh panting and steel plates clanging. The battle was won, and at least in this room, there were no deaths for the winning side. Cori checked for Fíli, then Dwalin, finding them both easily, before letting her shaking legs collapse beneath her.

_Well, I’m home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I spent the latter half of last week completely exhausted, so if you'll excuse my long pause, I'll try to get back on schedule. XD I promise you, the next upload is the one you've been waiting for, so I'll get straight to work. After class. Ugh.


	5. Return to the King

Cori slumped down onto the edge of her perch, blowing stray hairs from her face and dangling her bow between her knees. Her hand and neck throbbed in time with her pulse as adrenaline slowly dissolved from her body. All that ailed her in the end was exhaustion. The deep kind that burrowed into the bones and incessantly tugged someone toward sleeping, even if that meant lying down on a cold stone floor. It was all she had known for a long time now. It was familiar, and she welcomed it.

Some part of her inside was hollow as she stared across the quiet hall. The bodies of the slain dwarves were strewn all over the floor like autumn leaves beneath a wide oak tree. The shimmering pools of blood crawled across the stone beneath each motionless, decimated husk and the sightless glares stared upward at the high ceilings. That, too, she frequently experienced nowadays. Mostly at night, when her dreams shifted from beautiful, fanciful moments to the memories she would much rather forget but found were the most persistent. Not as if it was anything new after Ryone dogged her steps for twelve years. The content was just different. Fresher. She knew what tonight would look like now: she was staring at it.

“You all right, miss?” Blinking repeatedly to push away the fatigue, she looked over to see two young dwarves standing nearby. They stared at her in bewilderment. “Those were…good shots.”

She took a deep breath and tried not to think too much. They earned a grin for their sympathy. “I’m fine, thanks.” Her energy slowly returned in small, weak pulses, but her vision still swam. Attempting to get up would have to wait. Instead, she watched as the soldiers accounted for everyone and assessed the hall for those needing immediate medical attention. A few of the rebels who had not perished still sported crippling injuries. It could not be said that they surrendered, though it would have given them a more favorable outcome, but when their battered bodies were taken into custody, most likely to be carted off to a secluded place for doctoring before being thrown into a cell, they did not put up a significant fight. They sagged in resignation, no longer seeing a reason to fight as they had before. It was somewhat distressing, in a way. How could such a fervent flame die so quickly?

Amidst it all, a flash of gold dashed across the floor. Fíli jogged toward a large doorway on the left with a mission in his stride. Before he disappeared around the corner, he sent her a small grin and held up a finger. She giggled and nodded. Seeing as Kíli was not in this room, he was probably off to check on him.

While her head was turned, the sound of a throat clearing arose in her blind spot, and she jerked with a spike of adrenaline. An arrow gripped in her fist, she turned with a curse on her tongue toward whoever interrupted her recovery, which would make her have to start over again. However, the face she found was not a risen member of the dead, or once thought to be deceased, but that of Ion, son of Dion, dressed in the armor of the king’s guard and surprised face framed by wild red hair. He grinned in amusement, eyes flickering down to the flint tip sticking out from her closed hand.

“Forgotten me that quick?” she breathed out, laying back against the pillar once more.

“I knew you wouldn’t get close to me.”

She scoffed, kicking out at him half-heartedly. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too, lassie.” He lifted his hand and placed her sword beside her. When she furrowed her brow, he pointed to a rune on the handle. “I’d recognize Ered Luin work anywhere.”

The sword had been in her family’s stash before the attack on the Shire, and not the best work. She had it reshaped during one of her stays in the Blue Mountains.

“And it’s too small to be anyone else’s.” He winked.

“Right.” She picked up the blade, grimacing at the blood still shining on the iron, and nodded to him. “Thanks.”

“Fighting with us again, I see?”

“Well, I’ll be doing it for a long time. Not just a whim of a visit, this.” She watched as another rebel was dragged out of the room. “A dwarf losing conviction in his stance?”

He shrugged. “Not a very common sight, no.” With a regrettable frown, he patted her knee. “Tread lightly, my lady. No one’s feeling particularly welcoming as of late. But there’s plenty of us who are.”

She nodded, laying a hand across his scarred knuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” There were so many times during the quest when this jolly dwarf could have ended up meeting an unfortunate end like a few of their other companions, and she thanked Aulë every day for the simple preservation of a man so important and devoted to his family. He gave her a gentle smile before moving on to catch up with somebody else. Cori watched him walk away, letting her mind wander back to the place it had been the entire journey here. It felt a little more genuine this time.

Of course, his words tumbled around in her head a bit more. Warm greetings from all those she met? The furthest thing from her mind. And now, things were even more complicated than ever for the dwarves, with their own kind going after them. As she sat in her spot, meeting every sour glare that turned her way (some more obvious than others, especially when one stopped in their tracks to get a good look at her), she realized she could not have come at a worse time, the only exception being a declaration of war.

“Had you come on time, the reception would’ve been different.”

This time, she flinched for a whole different reason. A wave of raw pleasure tingled through all of her limbs in a split second, coming to rest lightly in her belly. All from that intoxicating timbre that had been lacking from the beautiful words sitting on the parchment carried in by a raven every few weeks. Without lifting her head from the stone, she turned to the side. She sucked in a silent breath.

_Glorious._

He wore a dark blue breastplate and gardbraces of light armor over a shirt of mail, though nothing covered his legs but trousers and thick leather boots. It all complimented him like a grand rug to an already elegant room. His silk waves of black with those refined silver strands fell loosely around his shoulders, slightly tousled from vigorous swordplay, and a little longer by a few inches. Speaking of longer, by Mahal, his beard. Though it remained very well trimmed around his mouth, it fell to just below his collar bones, long enough to braid. Two framed the outer edges and ended in large beads. It looked really good. Those sharp blue eyes with a touch of crow’s feet in the corners watched her from a somewhat tilted angle through his lashes, and she suddenly had an urge to kiss the pointed tip of that noble nose. He had changed very little. Delightful.

She had been staring at him like a loon without saying a word. He gave a wide smirk and asked, “Did you not like the company I sent for you?”

Her nose crinkled. His shoulders shook with a laugh. “ _For_ me? I was the one that directed them here. Do all dwarves lose their sense of direction above ground?”

“Yes.”

With a long sigh, she leaned forward, swinging her dangling legs back and forth. “I told them to leave me.”

“So I heard. I believed them.”

She giggled. Then she lifted her arms and held them out to him, beckoning.

His smirk melded into a wide, toothy smile, and he hurriedly stepped into her embrace and closed his strong, muscle-corded arms around her waist. She curled around his neck, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. The aim had been a hug, but suddenly, she was pulled off the pillar, her body ramming against his. Then he pressed his lips to hers with a fierce drive and a low, yearning groan. An overwhelming flood of relief washed over her. She hooked a leg around his hip, drawing herself impossibly closer, and the fit was perfect. It was as if all those letters had never happened; nothing could compare to feeling him, hearing him, and seeing him alive and physical before her eyes. Safety and peace blended together to create something so right, a thousand of those judgmental stares could not have kept her from doing this.

When they pulled away, a small laugh left his parted lips. “You’re here.”

She chuckled, threading her fingers through the dark waves falling behind his shoulders. “Yes, I am.” Then, because it was right there, she bent down to peck his nose. There was joy and realization in the way he smiled up at her, a stunningly youthful display on his handsome face. Plainly speaking, the king was giddy. Quite frankly, so was she.

“And you’re beautiful,” he murmured, setting her down on her feet. He reached to brush his thumb across her cheekbone. She had not been the only one ogling.

“That, too.”

He grinned, bending down to snatch one more quick peck. She had it, too: the incessant need to touch him and stand as close as possible. Of course, the layer of metal between them dampened the effect a little. _Wait until I get my hands on you later,_ she thought. Apparently, as it had been prone to do in the past, her face gave away the sudden rise in appetite. His mouth twitched into a playfully salacious smirk, and she reprimanded him with a small shake of her head. Now was not the time for the king to be acting inappropriately in front of his troubled people, no matter how little it bothered her.

“Have any idea what just happened?”

His expression sobered, though it stubbornly held onto its levity. “It’s Dwalin’s job to know that and inform me, so we will get the full story from him. I sent for him to meet with me a few moments ago.”

“I’ll come along, if it’s not a major breach in protocol.”

“It is, but if I want to rewrite something, I have the authority.”

“Something tells me you don’t throw that power around as frivolously as that.”

He shrugged. “Makes it more valid when I do.”

“In that case, I have something to attend to first.”

Just as she left him, Shadow stood patiently outside the gate, bored and dozing in the warm sun, completely oblivious to what just went on inside. After collecting him, Thorin led them to the stables where a groom gained his kingly orders to give the pony the best treatment possible, a task he took very seriously. With her bags hanging over her shoulder, Cori left her furry friend in capable hands and followed Thorin through the messy hall and into another one. Opposite the entrance to that one was a doorway leading into a long, comparatively narrow corridor. An alarming and troubling number of tunnels led to places only Mahal knew of. A hazard for somebody who did not have the stone sense, like her, that would find one of said tunnels by accident and end up lost in this vast cave for days before anyone found her. For now, she had a knowledgeable guide that would hopefully not leave her until she could be taken somewhere that she could stay put for a while.

At the end of the hallway was a smaller, dome-ceilinged antechamber. There were a few reliefs on the walls and more angular pillars rising high above them. Despite having two more entrances, it was not a trafficked area. However, it was not unoccupied.

“Cori!” A predictably tousled head of dark hair bobbed toward her with chilling speed. Thorin’s arm disappeared from where it sat across her shoulders since leaving the stables, and her body jolted into a hard, unarmored chest.

“Hi, Kíli,” she murmured, regretting the utterance immediately. All her breath rushed out at once.

The young dwarf squeezed with all his might. If he had been a cat, he might have purred. “You’re back. Oh, your beautiful face is just what I need right now.” He smacked a loud, exaggerated kiss onto her cheek and squished her face between his palms. He had not changed in appearance, aside from a thicker beard and a few braids that failed to contain his hair, and neither had his boyish energy. Good. She would think him sick without it.

“Thanks, lad,” she mumbled between her puckered lips, moving her jaw around when he finally let go. “You, too.”

The cheeky, cocksure grin turned to his brother. “Hear that? she called me pretty.” He bent down and pressed the side of his head to hers. “Guess you’re no longer her favorite.”

“That’s enough.” Thorin palmed Kíli’s wild waves and pushed him away, possessively retrieving Cori and swallowing her beneath his arm.

“In case it wasn’t clear,” she said, glancing between the two princes and locking herself against Thorin’s hip, “neither of you are.”

Oh, how quickly the king swapped faces with the boy.

The rhythmic pounding of boots on stone traveled down one of the hallways, and no one was surprised when it turned out to be Lord Dáin Ironfoot of the Iron Hills. “There ye all are. Been huntin’ up and down this bloody place for ye.” He stopped in his tracks when he noticed that not just dwarves occupyed what was supposed to be a confidential meeting. His tattooed face lit up when he saw her. “Well, look who we ‘ave here. I know ye. Peddler of the best damn beaver collar I’ve ever ‘ad the privilege o’ wearin’.”

Cori nodded once. “A pleasure, Lord Dáin.”

“Ha! So this is her, cousin? The one ye been mopin’ ‘bout since ye got back from the West? I should ‘ave known it was this little spitfire when the lads described her. Always ‘ad the gumption to get an heir of Durin to bend a knee.”

Cori knew a snap-back would surely come, so she blocked the way. “Then you’ve much to fear yourself, _my lord,_ if she is a conqueror of kings. I’d keep an eye out, if I were you.”

A roar of laughter left the mighty dwarf, and his head tipped back with it. “Both of ‘em, wide open.” He turned to Thorin and leveled a stare on him. “Don’t be an idiot, ye old git. Better realize what ye get ‘ere.”

Thorin squeezed just a little harder. “Attempted that already. Don’t think I need another trial.”

“Thought you were stuck in the market,” Dwalin, who had been watching on with a grin, said to Thorin in an attempt to steer the subject to more pressing matters than drudging up the past once more. Apparently, Cori had arrived just in time for Lecture the King Day, however thinly veiled that one had been to stroke his dwarven ego.

“Keeping perfectly good warriors back there is a waste of power.”

Dwalin’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, well, it was probably for the best anyway. One of the guards said someone snuck from the market all the way to the Royal Halls. After he was stopped, a riot broke out in the square.”

Cori tensed. Straight to the worst was always where her mind went when given the opportunity. “What would he want up there?”

“The Arkenstone is in there,” Thorin interrupted quickly, murmuring around his clenched jaw. “It sits in a locked room at the far end of the hall, with only a few that know where the key is.”

“Why the fight, though? Wouldn’t that put everyone on alert?”

“It would bring them all out to the front,” Dwalin replied. “Which leaves only a few to guard the Royal Halls. Once those are taken out, there’s no one to call for backup.”

“I was beginning to wonder why Froni and Rhyt were so insistent on continuing the discussion about the mining budget when we had already come to a conclusion.”

“Those old louts been givin’ ye a hard time again?” Dáin chuckled. “Still suspectin’ ‘em?”

Thorin answered Cori’s quirked brow. “I have always kept a close eye on my council. Their refusal to approve of the Quest for Erebor was questionable. They had much more power in the Blue Mountains than here, when I did not possess the Arkenstone. They have every reason to try to take it.”

“There’s no evidence to support that they’re involved,” Fíli said, uncomfortably shifting his feet.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Thorin replied. “We can try to bait them, but they’re clever. All we can do is listen out for any whispers in the city.” He sighed a long, slow breath. “Mahal, I thought I was done with this in Ered Luin.”

Dáin snorted. “Done with bein’ in the public eye? A chair and a fancy headpiece hardly take the attention away from ye. I’d say it paints an even brighter target on yer back. Should ‘ave figured that out by now.”

“I guess they’re expecting me to address the issue with them,” Thorin said, moving away from Cori. “As if I need to explain what just happened.”

“They aren’t all against you,” Kíli noted. “You might get something useful out of them.”

“That is all that spurs me that way.” He pressed a hand to the small of Cori’s back. “Go with them up to their rooms. It’s best if you aren’t roaming the halls at this time while everyone is on edge.”

“The only ‘roaming’ I’ll be doing is stumbling around corners in a panic while I try to figure out where I am. But sure, that sounds like a better use of time anyway.”

While it had been obvious that he tried to deliberately extricate himself from her at the start, in the end, he took her chin between his fingers and kissed her firmly. “It will only be a few hours at most. I’ll make sure of it.”

“The last thing I need is a kingdom full of angry dwarves coming down on me because I stole their king when they needed him the most.”

He smiled, pecking her forehead one last time. “You can clean up and get comfortable in my chambers, if you wish. They will show you the way.” He pulled away, swiftly marching into one of the corridors leading out of the room. Dáin followed, casting a wink to her around his shoulder when Thorin’s back was turned.

“I’ve got a doorstep littered with bodies to take care of,” Dwalin said dryly, patting her shoulder as he walked by. “Meet ye for a pint later, lass.”

“You got it,” she replied, watching him faze into the darkness of another exit. Then, silence blanketed the room that was neither tense nor peaceful. When Cori turned back around, she found two nearly identical smirks watching her. Her mouth opened to scold them for rudeness that should have been nipped in the bud when they were dwarflings, but the words left her when she faced with a wall of leather and hair and muscle charging for her. Kíli was quicker, trapping her against him once again.

“Now I can do this uninterrupted.”

She giggled, hugging him back.

“Such a hog,” murmured Fíli as he pried her out of his brother’s arms and closed her into a gentler embrace.

Was this her life now, passed from one dwarf to another?

Cori noticed it before, but was too busy trying to survive to dwell on it. Fíli had thickened significantly. While he had always been broad like Thorin, he still had the body of a dwarf that had only been of age for a few years. In fact, both of them seemed to have widened in the shoulders and chest: byproducts of intense sword (and in Kíli’s case, bow) training. They looked no older, but it was incredible how much they had grown in the past two years in other ways. Everyone she had seen seemed to be different in some way. Prosperity did them a world of good.

As they walked through the numerous halls of Erebor, Cori should have been paying attention to where they were going, but she only had eyes for studying these two handsome lads and trying to fantasize what this kingdom would be like in the future when they were at its head.

A few short minutes later, they dipped into the Royal Hall that she had heard so much about already, which was deep into the mountain but still on the same level. Fíli pointed out Thorin’s room when she asked, and she vaguely remembered it from the last time she was here. The glimpse had been brief, as hurriedly as she had run up here tailing after Dís, and the door was certainly _not_ what she was focused on at the time. Instead of going to one of their chambers, they steered her toward their mother’s, and Cori bounced on her toes as she waited for the door to open after they knocked.

All the exuberance drained out of her, however, when behind the door stood the stern daughter of Thráin who looked way too much like her oldest brother. Even when she realized who was there, her deliberate frown persisted. A whole lot of choler was aimed at Cori. “You, dear lady hobbit, are two years late.”

Cori blinked, trying to put aside the welcoming dam she had expected and figure out how to deal with the one she was given. “I…”

“Amad, don’t do this now,” Kíli groaned, squeezing Cori’s shoulder from behind her.

“She needs to know what she’s done to this kingdom.” Dís tautly ushered them all into her chambers, starting with her sitting area.

When the door rumbled shut, an old habit revived in Cori: she tensed, ready to put her hobbit flight to good use. It was something that often happened when frequenting dwarves’ halls in the past, never fully allowing her to let her guard down in such enclosed places. Now, here she was in small room with three other broad, strong dwarves, and she just could not help herself.

That steely gaze turned toward her once more, and she straightened just a little. Dís pointed a finger at her. “ _You_ are fortunate that Thorin has a talent for forcing a façade in front of those he needs to. Otherwise, this whole mountain would have crumbled immediately upon his return. I _never_ would have thought that I could call what was happening to my brother ‘lovesickness,’ but from my own experience, I know that that is exactly what was going on. And _you_ are at fault, you delightful, bold little creature. Come here.” A wide grin spread across the dwarf lady’s face just before she stepped forward to wrap Cori in a solid squeeze that allowed no escape. It was, however, lacking the hostility of a moment ago. “I don’t know how you did it,” she whispered into her ear, “but I’ll call it a miracle, just sit back, and watch the magic.”

Cori found the smiling, motherly face of a dwarf when she reared back, feeling the wall around her slowly crumble and relief take its place. She would scold her later for giving her a coronary, but she was ushered toward a circle of chairs and handed a cup of tea before she could open her mouth. Luckily, Fíli did it for her.

“Cruel, cruel woman, Mother,” he shook his head, sitting down in the chair next to Cori and taking a biscuit from a plate on the table beside it.

“Have we not all suffered from his moodiness and general scattered behavior? When you wrote to me of her, I was ready to see a completely changed man in our beloved king. Then he came back worse than he left, and I scrambled to keep up with him.”

“That’s something you’ll have to take up with him,” Cori said after steeping two spoons of sugar into her tea. “He practically forced me not to come back.”

“So I heard,” Dís replied with a roll of her eyes. “Sounds like him. So how is your family, Cori? Part of Thorin’s frustration was you not taking enough coin to help yourself and your family to recover, or so he says.”

“I took more than enough. I left them well on their way to returning to normalcy.”

“That offer extends further into the future, you know. Thorin will make sure they are living comfortably for the rest of their days, if you wish it. And he has us all to back him.”

Cori felt a pinch in her heart, but a good one, and she smiled. “Thank you.”

Just then, the door to the parlor opened loudly, and a striking head of red hair poked in. With their findings in the room assessed, they entered, and a new dwarrowdam added to the group. “I was told you had come in here already.”

Cori recognized the girl, and her speculations were confirmed when Fíli hopped up from his seat and kissed her without restraint. He held out a hand to Cori as he led the dwarf to their circle. “Cori, this is Tira, daughter of Lokthen, my wife. Tira, this is Cori Houndberry of the Shire.”

Short and curvy, with thick hair and wispy sideburns, Tira looked everything like a woman of her people. The perfect composition for a future queen of Erebor. Her beauty nearly rivaled Dís, and according to Fíli’s descriptive letters of her, her smithing was the envy of all those in her craft. The mention of Cori’s name seemed to strike a chord in the dam’s mind, and she gasped. “You’re the hobbit that saved Fíli’s life and journeyed with them to the West? You were at the feast in Ereven.”

That was more than Cori would have expected her to remember, considering at the time, Tira had eyes only for the handsome dwarf Cori sipped wine next to during the festivities. Of course, she did stand out a little. “All right, well, he’s being dramatic, as usual. There was every chance he could’ve survived that. But everything else is true, yes.”

Fíli tossed an arm over her shoulders. “Blood oath,” he whispered into her ear. “We are bound for life, you and I, whether you want it or not.”

Cori pushed him aside, crinkling her nose at the sweat and coppery scent of blood coming off his clothes. “I think you pressured her. There’s no way she chose to be linked to you voluntarily.”

“Hurtful, as usual, _namadith._ Though I suppose I have you to thank for that also.” He grasped the dam’s hand between his fingers. “Had it not been for Cori, I would never have come up to you at the feast. She was the one that convinced me to pursue you.”

Tira’s eyes widened. “Then I’m doubly indebted to you.”

If she gathered anymore obligations from these dwarves, she would have to call upon them at some point. They might be beneficial after all.

Another hour passed with the five of them talking over tea about trivial matters going on beneath the mountain, though there was very little worth telling that Cori did not already know from the various letters and their sources she received the past couple of years. Instead, they switched over to talking about the Shire, a topic that she was more than happy to enlighten them about. By the time she finished speaking about the inner workings of hobbit lives that the worldly dwarves had not already experienced or otherwise harbored false information about, she could feel her energy waning and aching.

“We will certainly talk more later,” Dís said at the door to Thorin’s chambers after escorting the hobbit there. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Cori Houndberry,”

There was a challenge somewhere in there. If she was looking to be impressed, by Yavanna, Cori would deliver. “So do I.”

The wide double doors crawled across the stone floor, unfolding the exquisite parlor of the King Under the Mountain’s private chambers. Bookshelves lined the chiseled stone walls, enough to fill an entire section of the library in Bucklebury. A fire, most likely revived by one of the servants, crackled contently on the left, a long settee and matching armchair positioned in front of it. There was a desk on the wall opposite to it, papers haphazardly scattered across it. She grinned, finding such an unintended thing a little endearing. An open doorway sat beside it, and with one quick look inside, she nearly melted on the spot.

A large four-poster bed rose above the rest of the room upon a three-tiered pedestal in the middle of the wall. A curtain of deep red had been tied up on the posts, revealing the matching duvet on the bed itself. A large fur lay across the covers, and she giggled. A fine raccoon pelt, stitched seamlessly by her own hands (she could give herself a pat on the back for this one), that she sent with a caravan of dwarves from Ered Luin moving to Erebor. It was her reaction to the pendent, and the response she received from it was the most elegant and affectionate letter she could ever remember reading. How could she describe seeing it lying on the bed, where it would have covered him every night? Empowering.

And then she saw the windows with the last rays of sunset creeping into it, obviously new renovations to the ancient room, and she realized exactly what Dís had been talking about. She had him, and it was the most terrifying and puissant feeling she had ever experienced.

Oh, the tub was exquisite.

Out of the hot water and into a clean blouse from her bags, Cori suddenly realized how cold it actually was, even with a fire blazing in the corner of the room to the right of the bed. So, with a snub toward her own coat packed in one of her bags, she pulled the fur off the bed and wrapped herself in it.

It smelled like him, and she shuddered from acute awareness of it.

Then, the door to the chambers in the sitting room opened, and something dormant came alive in her again.

A very weary Thorin was halfway across the room already when she poked her head through the archway, draping his cloak across the back of the armchair. He no longer had his armor on, and the mail hanging over his tunic followed the cloak. His shoulders were slumped, and his movements seemed stiff as he poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the table next to the chair. “You in here?” he called, obviously intending for his voice to carry to the other room.

“Yes,” she replied, keeping her laugh suppressed when he jerked around in surprise. Her breath caught anyway, however, when his gaze fell on her and darkened in the most exhilarating way.

Slowly, after taking a sip, he set the glass down on the table and ambled toward her. Every inch of her came under his scrutiny, and she was suddenly hot beneath her wardrobe. “Made yourself at home already, I see.”

“I decided to interpret ‘get comfortable’ the way I wanted to. Problem?”

He seemed particularly fixated on her feet. “We were in accordance.”

“How did your meeting go?”

“I do not wish to talk about that.” His voice had dropped impossibly low, reaching jarring depths. Slowly, he pulled the fur off her shoulders and draped it over one arm. “There are more important matters at hand.”

She nodded decorously. “All right. But now I’m cold.”

“Hm.” His hands curved around her waist, over her arse, and grasped the back of her legs. Once her arms rested on his shoulders, he picked her up and held her against him just as he had only hours earlier. “What can we do about that?”

“I don’t doubt your broad imagination, Your Majesty. But I don’t believe that’s the only thing about you that’s broad, if memory serves me right.” She slid her hand down between them as best as she could, blindly feeling through his tunic. The tingle in her stomach ignited at what she found. _Giver, that’s_ more _than I recall._

He chuckled, steadily walking into the bedchambers. “Does that same mouth kiss your mother?”

“I thought you liked this mouth.”

“Oh, Mahal, it is delectable.” He drew her lower lip between his and bit into it gently.

Suddenly, her back hit the comforter of the bed, and she stared up at the dark-eyed dwarf and the canopy behind him. “I want that fur up here.”

He quirked a brow, producing said item from behind his back and laying it next to her. “Sentimental now, are we?”

“I made that with you in mind through every step. Just like this.” She shifted around in her tunic, pulling the pendent out.

His smile shined radiantly when he looked down at it. Then he bent forward and kissed it tenderly, and something in her snapped.

She pushed up off the bed and met his lips in one fierce, urgent motion, curling her arm around his head. Her fingers grasped his hair and tugged, granting her with a soft grunt from him. She sat up completely and rolled with all her strength. Thorin fell onto the bed, arms sprawled wide, and a light laugh boomed from his chest. She crawled atop him and stared for a moment, taking in the combination of her dreams: his lineless, youthful face with his hair spread out across the grey fur and the light of the fireplace playing on his cheek. It was simply beautiful, and she dove in for a forceful taste of his mouth before pressing open-mouthed kisses all along the stubble below his jaw.

His voice came breathless. “Oh, right. The commanding, lascivious minx hidden inside my charming, unpresuming hobbit. How could I have ever forgotten?”

“I’ll make sure you don’t again,” she whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe before grasping his belt and unhooking it. Once it was out of the way, she slid her hands beneath his tunic, up until her fingertips touched his chest and raked her nails back down his torso, carefully feeling every bump and patch of hair. He inhaled sharply, reaching up to bring his hands back onto her waist and relish in her own curves.

“And how would you go about doing that?”

She retrieved her hands from his chest and took his wrists. She had already done this before, but seeing him laid out with his hands pinned above his head sent a thrill down into her belly. “I get the feeling you think you’re in control right now,” she murmured, bending over him to ghost her lips along his collar bone. When she tilted up to bite his neck, he tensed.

“Do you truly think you’re keeping me down?” he rumbled back, the vibration traveling straight into her body.

“Yes. You’re allowing me to do this, which means I have your mind, an even stronger hold than a physical one.”

He smirked. “Looks like the true threat to this kingdom is right here in this room. And I invited it in.”

“So, what will you do about it?”

Without warning, he craned his neck and stole a demanding kiss. When he dropped his head back down onto the bed, his grin remained. “Let it ravish me until I am soft clay to be molded. I would mourn the loss of such endearing spirit.”

Her heart tugged, and the giddiness from earlier returned. He was actually here, with her, and she missed him so. “I bet you would. So you would rather our lovemaking be less sweet and tame from here on out?”

“That sounds endlessly boring.”

She giggled. “Indeed it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long couple weeks.  
> I hit writer's block on the chapter I've been working on, which made things worse when I have barely any time or energy to write at all, at least in my personal stuff (I've certainly been doing a lot of it for classes). Can’t count how many times I rewrote the first part of this chapter, though. I probably just wanted to keep describing Thorin’s majesty, even though I was desperate to move on to the bedroom beast.  
> No real sexy times (this time), though I can add one to the list of “The Life of Hobbits” shots, if anyone wants it (which looks to be happening after this story's finished).   
> Anyway, thanks for the patience. I think I'm going to bed now.


	6. Honor

A fire crackled quietly, and for a moment, it was the only sound. The heaviness of sleep still pulled Cori down, and she allowed it to dissipate slowly. If there was a chance she could slip back into it, she would want that door to be open. After a moment, she recognized another noise: the pattering of fat raindrops on glass. A muffled rumble of thunder mingled with it. A lazy morning to go with her drowsiness. Perfect. She buried her face into the downy pillow and tugged the soft sheets closer to her body, breathing out a long, content sigh.

Then something dipped the other side of the bed she lay in, and she froze. Cooler air than that which had been trapped beneath the blankets blew onto her bare back and buttocks, but that lasted only a moment before firm, warm skin pressed against it. She jerked, heartrate spiking and hand groping for a weapon she knew would not be there (she never kept one nearby when sleeping in a bed). A hand lay on her hip, and she flipped around to meet the intruder with all the ire of a miffed hedgehog.

Warm, tender blue eyes met her gaze instead of the unscrupulous intruder she expected to find, and she collapsed back onto the pillow with a sharp exhale and a hand over her chest. _Right._ “Gracious, I forgot where I was.”

Thorin chuckled. His hand softly petted her stomach, tracing around her ribs with a light brush of his finger. It moved lower still and sifted through the small patch of hair below her navel, and she lifted her pelvis to move it where she wanted it most. Soft lips contrasted by the scratch of a moustache brushed behind her ear, the tip of the long nose pressing against the lobe. “You know what’s funny?”

She hummed to let him know she was partly listening, but he was also fond of encouragement when he did something particularly pleasing to her. And right then, he deserved it.

“I awoke the same way not too long ago. Nearly tossed you off the bed.”

She giggled, craning her neck around to press her forehead to his cheek. “This’ll take some getting used to, I think.”

“I don’t see an issue.”

She looked around the room—the grand bedchambers of the king of Erebor—contemplating it with acute study. “Neither do I.”

He grinned widely, pulling her against him by the hip and wrapping that arm around her back to keep her there. Cori inhaled and sighed against his chest, drowsy again. There was newness and exhilaration, but he was so familiar; there was an echo that resembled a memory of what it felt like to do just this during their time in the Shire together. But it was certainly Thorin and his warmth, and she did not realize how much she missed it until she curled against him in the late hours of the night, sated and happier than she had been in a long time.

“I thought it was all a dream,” he rumbled softly. “When I awoke. Mahal knows how many times I’ve been tricked before waking up in an empty bed.”

She caressed his chest, threading her fingers through the thick hair there. Her hand came to rest on the breast of the outstretched raven inked into his skin, slowly tracing the long tail that dipped down his waist and beneath the blanket resting low on his hips. “Did you dream of me?”

“Always. Torturous episodes, but I pathetically begged to have them often.” He turned her over, laying her on her stomach and partially covering her from above. “Would you dream of me?”

She pushed back against him, wordlessly responding to his unasked question. They were awfully coordinated in bed, despite having spent little time there. “Yes. They were quite corporeal.”

He kissed the nape of her neck, skimming his lips along her spine and back up to cross over her shoulder. “Describe them.”

His hand drifted around the curve of her waist, over her ribs, and tantalizingly brushed the side of her breast. She sighed, raising one arm to wrap around his head and pull him closer, subsequently offering his roaming hand more access. He obliged. “In a bed, like this one, me above you and kissing you.”

“Are you sure that was not a memory from last night?”

“I recall that particular position used many times, not just last night.”

He chuckled, gingerly nipping the fully healed scar on her helix. “Continue.”

“Sitting beneath a tree near my house by the Brandywine, sharing a picnic, and tending to our swords.”

“Mm. That sounds delightful. Right on par with the other one.”

She giggled. “Dwarves and their weapons.” Her breath hitched when his finger swirled around a nipple, calling it to immediate attention. She reached back to rub the thigh steadily pushing hers apart, squirming when the leg brushed a rather sensitive place. She needed to concentrate to keep any control (even though allowing him to do as he pleased would be just as rewarding a time).

“There were little ones,” he murmured quietly, his hand drifting down her stomach and back toward her core. She tensed before he even touched her, and he understood. “That is a conversation for another time, _khajimele._ I want to know about this.” He kissed her back again, lips tracing a pattern on the skin just below her neck.

She grinned. As observant as he was, she wondered why he had waited this long to mention something. “You remember Bern?”

“I do.”

“He’s a bad influence.”

His snort was rather contrary to their current circumstances, and it made her laugh harder. “You cannot convince me that you swayed to do something like this on his whim. An ink marking?”

“I wanted something for a time, but I was always afraid to approach anyone that would do it before. Then I couldn’t settle on a design.” A spread raven with a rose in full bloom above its head and the thorny stem curled around the wings now sat just below her shoulder line. The inker had done a tremendous job, she thought.

He reared back a little, moving her springy curls a little further to the side. “It has some gratifying inspiration, I must say.”

“Do you like it?”

He rolled over her further, supporting himself on his elbows as his leg encouraged hers further apart. “It is beautiful.” She felt him, hot and thick, just where she wanted him the most. He gently bit into the skin of her shoulder as he pushed in, and she whimpered against the pillow. They had done this position only once before, in the Shire. Only guessing what he would possibly do next fogged her head until she noticed nothing but his weight on her back and his breath on her neck.

His movements to start were slow and controlled, slipping in deep and pulling a moan from her with each pass. He had asked after their final bout in the night if she ached; he was always considerate of their difference in size. He took his time with her until she asked for more. She pushed a knee into the bed and rolled her arse back against him. He groaned, a hand lying on her waist to keep her in place as he thrust with more force. She sobbed, head spinning and heart pounding. Each grind of his pelvis and brush of his hair on her skin blinded her even further from the world. He was far too good.

Death dogged them when they first came together in Bilbo’s guest room and a lie from her past hovered over her. Separation loomed the last time. But now, there was no finality, waiting for the end of their togetherness to come by a battle or hundreds of miles. Everything was out in the open, just as it should have been. It was so sweet.

“ _’Ukrad,_ ” he whispered, the rasp in his voice dropping straight to her belly. “ _Alfâm abnâmul._ _Azhâr._ ” His hand covered hers on the pillow, lacing their fingers together. “My gift.”

The white hot fire expanded slowly, lazily, but all-consuming nonetheless. She panted and writhed, clinging to the sheets, every piece of her falling apart and coming back together again all at once. It was more than the friction, and the heat, and the sounds rumbling from his chest. It was the swell of love in her heart. She _loved_ this dwarf with more than she thought she possessed and could possibly give.

As the waves washed over her, Thorin found his own ecstasy. One arm had slipped beneath her and curled around her stomach, pressing her into him securely. His forehead dropped to her curls, and he stilled, the room echoing his groans. A sample of Khuzdul, a curse, slipped in. He collapsed on the bed next to her, nuzzling her back while his incoherent mumbling continued. She smiled, turning to look at him. His face partially squished into her back and the pillow, he looked content and serene. They trembled together, listening to their pulses intertwine.

“That will be rare,” he murmured, delicately pecking her skin twice before slipping out of her and enclosing her with his arm once more.

“What will?”

“I want to face you.” Tender adoration replaced the primal lust. “I prefer watching you. It is hypnotic, that look in your eyes.”

She lifted a hand, tracing it over his cheekbone. “I see you, too, you know. Everything.”

“You are a safe place. I’ve told you before.”          

He had. He preferred her company simply because she pushed aside his title, crown, and throne in favor of his individuality, which seemed like something a person in his standing would find positively irksome. Defiance? Apparently, that excited him. Or maybe it was just that somebody finally came along that was not afraid to tell him off to his face and actually act like he was a person and not an unreachable deity. His company from the Quest for Erebor supposedly did that, and he marked his reverence for them in a tattoo across his back for it. He talked with Bilbo as if they had been friends their whole lives. And he opened up his heart and bed to her. He had a rather healthy way of picking his friends, which she took as reassurance.

“Why did you keep your beard short all that time?” she asked after a quiet moment of nothing but their breathing, twirling a little piece of his hair around her finger. A king of the Longbeards should have a long beard, should he not? When he hesitated, she twisted around to find out what kind of damage she had done this time.

He did not seem sad, still absorbed in the pleasant thrums that persistently ravished her as well. Rather, he was patient, and contemplative. Perhaps it had been a long time since he had thought about it. He kissed her cheek before responding. “For those who lost theirs to fire, and never had the chance to grow them back.”

She always knew, and welcomed the reminder, that his people did not deserve his love. For all he had done for them, he should have had all the happiness in the world. He found too much misery instead, and it angered her. The full measure of his sacrifice was overlooked at times. “What made you decide to grow it out?”

He blinked, wading through his thoughts once more. “At one time, I might’ve considered it a symbol of our return to the home that had been taken from us. Reviving what we lost. But no matter what others feel, I’m getting a fresh start. It is different than I thought it would be, but no less gratifying. I’m ready to shake off our struggles and build a new life.” He smiled, some of the gravity lifting from his gaze. “I will admit that you were a pivotal factor in that decision.”

“And how could you possibly know how much I’d like it?”

He chuckled, eyes squinting merrily. “A gamble, really. I was counting on your considerate nature. You have never once tried to change me into something I am not.”

“Why would I? Even if I wanted to, I know my odds of actually accomplishing that are less than if I tried to make my family leave the Shire. And in that respect, you’ve never attempted anything either.”

“What would I make you into? You are unashamedly a hobbit and would surely bite back if I tried.”

Oh, thank Yavanna. Hearing the words crushed all of the arguments she feared she would have to make. She rolled over and bumped her nose to his, successfully pulling a grin out of him. “I like the beard. And everything else it’s done to you. You’ve put on weight.”

“Traveling rations do little more than give energy for the day’s walk.”

“You were leaner when I met you at the gates that winter.”

“I threw myself into keeping the mountain afloat that first year. You would have enjoyed the scolding Dís gave me when she arrived and saw my hip bones. Though I suppose that had more to do with her seeing the lads’.”

“So I guess that means you’re settled?”

He nodded. “We are prospering.”

She raised up a little on her elbow, resting her head in her palm. “And you are happy?”

“I am now.”

“But you have been happy being here?”

He grinned. “Yes, _khajimele._ I have been happy.”

She slipped the other arm around his neck, pulling his lips to hers. “I’m glad.”

“So,” he continued, petting her thigh with very little sensuality, but the potential for more remained. “As I have a home, a moderate sum of wealth, and am healthy, would you consider me worthy of courtship?”

“About time.”

“Yes, it is.”

If not for her ribs, her heart would have leapt right out of her chest, and that escaped her through a frivolous giggle. This was their chance they had been waiting for. After all the trials and miscommunications they had endured, they needed to learn one another. They may have already found each other in intimacy, but _this_ would be the most crucial step for them.

This was more exciting than all the miles and years she treaded the world alone.

Hooking her leg around his hip, she wedged herself against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. “Yes, you can.”

His hand fisted into her hair and tilted her head back. And he devoured her, the passionate caresses of his lips coupled with frenzied zeal. He groaned into her mouth, maneuvering her on top of him until she completely straddled his torso. Their hearts thumped wildly against each other, the warmth of the room building again.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips, large hands skimming along her sides and gently grasping her waist, his fingers just shy of touching.

She pulled away and rested her temple against his, pure joy prompting an involuntary smile to rise. It was almost too much, this overflowing happiness, and she fought the reflex to recoil. This could not be an empty promise. “I love you, too.”

               ********************

Reposing in the bliss of a room precisely built to house a monarch felt like an outstanding way to spend the day. After four months of traveling, an unforeseen battle with dwarves of all possible opponents, and a night of carnal indulgences where there should have been sleep, Cori discovered that rising from the exquisite blankets of that bed was a task she just was not up for. So she reclined on the pillows, wrapped up loosely in her gifted fur against the chill of the stone room, and watched Thorin begin his day.

Thorin had a slightly panicked kingdom to attend to (“They would never show it, but I can tell”). While she tried to beguile him into staying with her, at least for a little longer, he reminded her that, while tempting, his sense of duty firmed up against her attempts. She had tried it once before and failed. So she lay quietly as he dressed and weaved braids into his hair and beard, contending with fantasies that ran out of control as he slowly turned into a handsome king. He was not unaware; several times, he caught her eye, which undoubtedly twinkled with desire, and his lips twitched. But his iron will persevered.

He did, however, ask her directly to stay in the Royal Hall while he was gone. Though it was an obvious demonstration of his protectiveness, which could be argued as being irrationally high, she knew that going anywhere in the mountain without a guide would result in her falling down a mineshaft or winding up in the bowels of the city with no map in sight. So, she obliged him, promising to make use of his dusty books and hinting at no effort to get dressed as she did so. She sent him off with a kiss and a pleasing visual to occupy his mind throughout the day.

So her morning went by in a sluggish blur of thumbing through flimsy pages and dozing. Then it came to a rattling halt when a fist pounded against the door leading out of the parlor. Hoping it was not somebody who would require more propriety from her than a robe, she trotted to the door.

Kíli, bobbing eagerly on his toes, met her gaze with a smile only to look down with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, good. You’re…somewhat decent.”

Cori rolled her eyes. “Are you going to make me get dressed?”

“Unfortunately. You’ve been called to the courtroom.”

Dread twisted in her stomach, the sudden anxiety quelled with a bit of deliberate irritation. “And what have I done?”

He shrugged with pursed lips. “Showed up?”

That was not normally how she had been dealt with when people did not want her around, but dwarves could be eccentric. Nor was it entirely unexpected. “Give me ten. I wasn’t prepared to see nobility today.”

Pulling herself away from the cozy nest she had made on the bed, she followed the young prince down the corridor and toward the judiciary part of the mountain. “Let me guess. Nobody’s taking Thorin’s biased word.”

“You didn’t exactly time your entrance well. And considering you managed to get into the city when the gates were sealed shut, there’s plenty of damning evidence.”

She scoffed. “‘Evidence.’ The evidence is that Dwalin pulled me up.”

“As long as nobody else was there to see it, even the word of the chief of defense, who happens to be more than an acquaintance to you, isn’t enough to spare you.”

“I feel like there’s treason somewhere in all that logic.”

“Not when the entire kingdom is backing it. People are trying not to question Durin’s heir, but our family haven’t exactly been wholesome for the dwarf population.”

Their stroll through the trafficked halls gave credence to what he said. Even being in the company of the prince saved her little grief from the suspicious glares of those heedful to the gossip. The odds were not in her favor, given her race and how un-dwarven she was. Generally, dwarves had been and always will be unchanging in their ways and convictions. She should not let it bother her.

But being unwelcomed in what was supposed to be her new home left her a little downtrodden.

“Terribly inconvenient it must be, having to acknowledge that not everyone in the world is out to get you.”

He barked a laugh. “They’d rather gripe about tree-shaggers.”

“Speaking of which, how are things in the East neighborhood?”

“Quiet at the moment, but things are starting to get restless again. We had a bout last year with the Woodland Realm, which equated to Thorin physically holding his council back from declaring war. Thranduil made a threat, though funnily enough, it was in an attempt to force peace between us. The council caved, but I think they’re ready to drive forward again. Things have been good here, but they could always be better.”

“When is that ever not the state of the world? So, how’s _your_ relationship with the Woodland Realm?”

His brow pinched. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on, Kíli. I promised I wouldn’t tell anybody, and I didn’t, but you left me dangling. Now that we aren’t standing at the point of a blade anymore, you’re going to tell me why you were so quietly eager to go through Mirkwood when we first left Erebor on the quest and what you didn’t find that left you disappointed when we got to the other side.”

Judging by his open-mouthed, bug-eyed expression, he had underestimated just how much she had perceived from him. They were all under her suspicion those first couple of months; of course, she would keep a close eye on him, enough to sneak some juicy secret from him. He sighed, warring with his thoughts.

“One of the elves has caught your eye, haven’t they?”

“Maybe I was hoping to sample some wine, or swipe some arrows to replenish my own supply.”

“You hate wine, and their arrows would be too long for your bow.”

He palmed a hand over his reddening face, groaning into it. She giggled.

“Name?”

His voice quieted. “Tauriel.”

“Pretty.”

“She is.”

“So why haven’t you used your princely power to get a moment with her? Because, with your charms, a moment would be all you need.”

“Thanks. But apparently, my status isn’t enough to do that. I haven’t gotten through Thorin.”

She groaned. “That old git’s been hypocritical, hasn’t he? ‘You cannot be with someone that is not a dwarf.’ Piffle.”

“No, I haven’t told him. Just Fíli. But I’ve petitioned him to let me be ambassador to Mirkwood so I can at least see her, but he’s declined. Considering he tells me I have good political sense, I’m going to assume he suspects _something_ , even if he’s not concerned about the truth.”

“You’re the least shady person I’ve ever met, lad. I don’t know what’s gotten into his head.”

“Which makes me think he knows, somehow. Fíli hasn’t blabbed, I know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll corner him and get the truth out of him.”

“No, Cori, please.” He grabbed her arm, though not restricting her. “It’s nothing I can’t handle myself, I promise.”

“Don’t be afraid of him. He’s not going to disown you. You’re his pride and joy. Mahal, if only you could see the way he looks at you both. He would want you to be happy, and so do I.”

He was ready to argue again, and Cori suddenly found some indignation with Thorin. From the first time she met him, she could tell Kíli looked up to his king, like a young boy wanting to emulate his idol. But if he felt uncomfortable talking with Thorin about this, Thorin had clearly neglected his duty as an uncle, which should have been the most important role, especially since it doubled as father to the boys. The words halted in Kíli’s mouth, however, and he stared straight ahead with a vexed contortion to his face. “The ambassador position, fine, but don’t mention her, please. Let me think about it a while.”          

She nodded. She had no business interfering with Kíli’s personal life, but if she could soften Thorin up a bit, it might make things easier for him, even if it was just to give him some peace of mind.

They finally arrived to the courtroom, and Kíli gave her a gentle squeeze of her shoulder before they entered. In a rush, she returned to that one meeting she had in Durmark, staring down Lord Mivror as she silently battled for her place with the dwarves. There, she was met with a slew of emotions from the present counsellors, dominated mostly by curiosity but closely followed by derision for an outsider ever daring to grace their presence during a political discussion, let alone entering their sacred halls. And here, well, she certainly had their attention from the moment she walked in.

She had been in the room once before, and everything looked exactly the same. It was round, in contrast to many of the dwarves’ angular architecture, with statues, banners, and tapestries lining the walls. A grand fireplace sat on the side of the room opposite to the door, roaring hotly as if feeding off the tension in the room. A long table occupied the middle floor on a dark green rug, and each chair had been filled by majority unpleasant faces. The only ones she recognized at it were Balin, Dwalin’s brother; Iren, who regarded her placidly; and Thorin at the head of the table with his back to the fireplace. Dwalin stood nearby, casually leaning against a display table to the left of the council. He gave her a somewhat suppressed smile, and she read it easily: this was absolutely ridiculous, and they would all have a good laugh about this over an ale later.

“Miss Houndberry,” Thorin called, an even and professional tone to his voice. But the lines in his face, which had disappeared the moment he first laid eyes on her in his chambers the night before, dug prominently into his skin. He dragged a heavy boulder behind him. “If you could give us a moment of your time.”

“Of course, my lord.” She stood at the end of the table where Kíli placed her, vaguely aware of the door opening and closing once more as he left. The eighteen pairs of eyes on her were a bit distracting.

“The council would like to hear why it is you’ve come to Erebor.”

There really was no use in plying an innocent tradeswoman act while a large portion of the room had already made their judgments about her, and she and the king had shared a rather public embrace during their reunion in the front hall. _You owe them nothing,_ she told herself. _Just make things easier for Thorin._

“We would hear you swear to honesty,” said a blonde woman, one of only three at the table, with a surprisingly patient countenance. She seemed to be on neutral ground. Cori would talk with her, and those like her, and ignore the ones who would probably scowl at her and let her words roll right off of them.

“You have my word that I’ll speak the truth.”

She received a few nods, taking that as her cue to start. _Here we go._

“As I traveled with the king and his company in response to Ryone of Rohan’s threat, I formed relationships with those in the group, some…closer than others. I’ve been kept away for this long by duty to my kin, but I’m no longer held to that, so I’ve come to visit friends.”

“Are you involved with the king?”

She jerked. That was blunter than she expected.

“That is irrelevant to the current agenda,” Thorin interrupted firmly, and nobody felt inclined to insist against him. A few of them were flustered; they thought themselves cunning, while their king was too clever not to see past their objectives. She wanted to grin.

“You arrived at a calamitous time, my lady,” one dwarf said, and she panicked when she could not decipher who it was: none of their mouths could be seen through the nest of hair covering them! Then one who sat in the general vicinity of where the voice came from leaned forward, and she nodded.

“Quite. My sympathies for your misfortune, and might I say impressive fortitude in dealing with the problem.” She gestured politely toward Dwalin, and he seemed to be failing at hiding his amusement in his beard. So delightful that she could provide entertainment for him; she hoped he enjoyed the sight of her fainting later, too. She would make sure to tell him that over their ales.

“If I may be bold,” Iren said, abruptly standing up and taking the floor while the rest of them looked on with bewilderment and offense, depending on what their general mood for the meeting had been. Cori braced; he held a grudge for the troubles she caused for sure, and it would probably take a direct intervention from Thorin to keep her out of the dungeons after he was done. The dark-haired dwarf held a hand out to her. “Miss Houndberry, I would like to inform you, though I’m certain you’ve already guessed, that the council is trying to decide whether or not you’re involved in the attack yesterday.”

A low murmur rumbled through the room, some of the dwarves jerking to attention with a word or two on their tongues. Thorin’s hand went up, and they immediately quieted. When Iren looked toward the king for confirmation, Thorin nodded.

“If we continue at the pace you were all going a moment ago,” Iren said, beginning to amble around the table, “we would be here for hours. And as we’ve already counselled for quite some time, I’d say we’re all due for an adjournment _before_ dusk. Let’s hear it, Miss Hobbit. Were you, or were you not, involved with those who began the riot in the market the day before?”

“No.”

He nodded. “And there’s that. Now, moving on to witnesses. As some of you may know, the lady was in my care for three months as we traveled here from the West. She left my company to visit the skinchanger of the Wilderland, whose name I’ve learned to be Beorn. After that, she continued on behind us, which is how she arrived in Erebor the day after my company and I did. As we traveled together, I learned much of her character, which was reinforced by her willingness to, even after a long journey, engage the rebels in combat. Can you confirm my observations, Master Dwalin?”

“You got it.”

“And how did our lady breach the walls?”

“Tossed a rope down to her.”

Iren nodded again. “Dwalin, son of Fundin, chief of defense in Erebor, gave the hobbit the means to enter the city. Are you questioning his judgment?”

The room remained silent while the counsellors shook their heads.

“Master Balin, you knew her previously. Can you vouch for her character?”

Balin nodded. “Aye. The lass saved Prince Fíli from certain death.”

“And finally, she has gained favor in the eyes of the king, and as he said, the nature of which is extraneous, for it only matters that it exists. Are we now questioning _his_ judgment?”

The response was more forceful this time, everyone making sure that their answer was seen and noted. Frustration had risen on those who suffered it; plans for an easy victory had been foiled.

“Would the council present any evidence to condemn Miss Houndberry for collusion with rebels?”

Silence.

Cori could not help it. She grinned at the rather smug-looking dwarf who had walked around her and made it all the way to the other side of the table.

“You are all free to express further grievances in the future,” he said, checking with Thorin only as an afterthought. “But I think we can conclude this matter without having to instigate a formal trial. As the defendant lacks proof, and has had multiple witnesses testify in her favor, I’d say it would be a great waste of time to pursue that end. Are we all in agreement?”

Some nodded, some did not, though there were no outright objections. That was good enough.

“We will reconvene later,” Thorin said with finality, dropping his eyes to shuffle through the papers in front of him as a clear dismissal.

Cori remained in place as the dwarves rose, gathered their things, and headed for the door, incoherent conversation following them out. She ignored any glares that may have fallen on her, focused on the triumphant gleam in his dark brown eyes. When the last dwarf had walked in front of him, he approached her, tilting his head in the same greeting as he had the first time he had seen her on the Great East Road. “I see you managed to beat the wilderness,” he said.

“You might have many years on me, Master Dwarf, but I believe I have more miles under my belt. I made the road my home, and it takes care of me.”

“Hm. I’m sure _Kaminzabdûna_ gives special attention to her ‘wayward’ children.” He patted her on the shoulder, leaning a little closer. “Pay little heed to the opinions of stuffy old men. They live as statues: stuck in their ways. But there is nothing more dishonorable than condemning an innocent out of personal spite, and as a noble dwarf, I would see justice served.” With a wink, he trailed after the crowd, disappearing out the door with the last of the council.

Cori turned and bent over the table, her head thumping loudly on the wood. “This is madness.”

A gentle hand lighted on her back. “This is court, lassie.” She twisted her head to the side, looking up at Balin and the genuine sympathy on his face. His mere presence—resolute with calm authority and insight—soothed her in not so different a way as Gandalf. She returned his smile with an appreciative one of her own, rising back to her full height. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. It might not seem like it, but there’s a lot of us that’re glad you’re here.”

“They’re all hiding, apparently. So far, I’ve been chased out with swords and axes, speared through and skinned, and tossed from the highest point of this mountain. I didn’t know you could accomplish that much with just a look, but Giver help me.”

An arm slipped around her shoulders from behind, and the familiar alleviating aura engulfed her like a blanket. She instinctively leaned in. “It is a gift, the ability to skewer a boar with just the eyes.”

“You have it.”

He chuckled. “But it is nothing more than a look.” A light kiss pressed to her temple. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t anticipated them to lobby so earnestly for a testimony. The skepticism was worse than I thought.”

“I’m not so sure it’ll leave completely, though,” Balin said. “We refused to answer some of their questions. The scrutiny will hang around until everyone has some believable story to cling onto.”

“They’ll have to learn it eventually,” Dwalin remarked, joining the circle. “Kings don’t necessarily make a habit of putting courting braids in their mistresses’ hair.”

“They will,” Thorin said, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “In time. Though it’ll make little difference.”

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear right now,” she murmured, still hiding in his coat.

“How about lunch with Dís and Fíli? Better?”

She lurched away, ignoring the other two dwarves and dragging him by the hand toward the door. “Tell me more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> ‘Ukrad: greatest heart  
> Alfâm abnâmul: beautiful music  
> Azhâr: home  
> Kaminzabdûna: Earth Queen (Yavanna)  
> (Raided DwarrowScholar hard with this one)
> 
> Here's your smut (don't worry, I'll still do the previous chapter's scene, too XD).  
> Got a little behind in my studies, but I finally managed to pull myself out of the rut with a few days off. Getting back into the groove after summer is hard. This was fun for obvious reasons, though it's entertaining to show how bad Cori is with accusations. Is it so good of an idea to just brush them off with indifference all the time? Hm.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kudos and feedback. Users or guests, you guys are glorious! <3


	7. Home Sweet Stone

“You have an incredible sense of self-preservation, Oakenshield, thinking to put those windows in.”

A bark of laughter hopped from Thorin’s chest as he rolled out of bed, ambling leisurely toward the chair next to the bedroom fireplace. Somehow, his trousers had ended up there last night while his tunic lay in the doorway. Her nightgown hung from the knob of the wardrobe, attributable to the dwarf’s skillful aim even when his back was turned. “Indeed? I thought I would need an escape if ever I was locked in here as a wildfire blazed.” He winked over his shoulder, taking his time as he sought the waistband. A subtle invitation, perhaps? How much more could she possibly give after last night?

“All right, maybe not _too_ incredible, as you’d probably be the one fanning the flames.” She jumped up suddenly, for there were several downfalls to letting him put those trousers on and she wanted to face none of them. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed herself to his back. Her hands caressed his abdomen absently. “If not for the little sunlight I get, I’d accuse you of confining me to a prison cell.”

“A rather outstanding dungeon this would be.” He dropped the clothing, much to her momentary relief, and rotated in her grasp. “It’s early, darling, and my thinking has been slightly hindered by the work of that skillful mouth of yours. Tell me straight what’s wrong.”

She sighed, turning her eyes down to watch one hand trace the brilliant sword inked into his side. She considered being sympathetic when weighing her options about how to broach this subject. He did, after all, have a slew of blood-sucking prigs to deal with regularly due to the disruption in the city, and she envied him not in the least. That consideration was short-lived, however. _He_ had everything he could possibly want in life right in his reach. How could it hurt him to get a little glimpse into what _her_ life looked like now? “Guess where I am during the day while you’re going about your business.”

His brow pinched as he searched for the trick to the question. “Here?”

“And nowhere else.” She pulled away from him, marching back to the bed to grab her robe. This damn place always seemed to have a draft blowing through it. “Just another of your horded treasures gathering dust in sheer uselessness.”

“That is untrue.” He trailed after her, hesitantly refraining from reaching for her. “I thought you enjoyed your time in here during the day. You are always jovial when I return in the evening.”

“Because thank Mahal you’ve finally gotten back, and I don’t have to clean my sword or readjust my bow one more time. I’m a nomad, and a poor farmer; I haven’t sat still my entire life. I don’t think the reward I get at night for my patience is enough to sweet-talk me into giving a little effort to accept all this leisure time. Not for something so fixable.”

Understanding sparked in his eyes, and he cast his gaze to the ground with a nod. “So what would you like me to do?”

“Give me a tour.”

“Of what?”

She slapped her hands onto her thighs. “Mirkwood, please! What do you think?”

“It would take days to wander Erebor, love. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“All right. You know a fair bit about me. Take me places you know I’d like. Places I can spend the day _other than here._ ”

“Do you think you’re up to the task?” he asked, a playful twitch in his brow. “You don’t have the stone sense that dwarves do. We can navigate our halls even if we’ve never been there. You’re out of your element.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure the training yard is in some obscure corner deep in the catacombs far beneath the mines. And there’s no convincing me that _somebody_ hasn’t made a map of this place in all the years you occupied this place before the dragon. I’m not convinced you’re innocent of my accusations earlier now.”

“Well, you are right about one thing. I know you. Why, if that’s the case, would I do something like that?”

She shrugged. “You’re a dwarf. It’s what makes you dwarfy.”

His hands cupped her cheeks before she could step away, and their warmth seeped into her skin like soothing oil. “And this is no conventional relationship of the Khazad, is it? As such, I will need to adapt to the true nature of this arrangement. I must put aside many effects of my upbringing and accept the fact that I’ve agreeably bound myself to a hobbit. It may be in my nature, but I’m also a sentient being, which you can train to your contentment.”

She giggled, leaning toward him as if a phantom hand pressed into her back. “I don’t suppose I have to get too creative with your reward, do I?”

That mischievous little grin traveled down into her belly. “I have simple tastes.”

“You are anything but simple.” She kissed his sternum, sneaking in a little pinch to his hip as she retreated from his grasp. “Come on. I don’t want to spend another moment in this trap.”

“What if I have meetings this morning?”

She twisted around, looking expectantly over her shoulder. “Do you?”

“Not anymore.”

“Excellent.”

Actually, though, she had little idea, after leaving the Royal Halls for the first time in three days, how much she had underestimated exactly what she was asking for, and the shock was as expected. Diving headfirst into the intricate webbing of the interior of the Lonely Mountain was about as immersive as swimming in molasses. Not only did it take a synonymous amount of time to get anywhere, but the further down they went, the thicker the rock and the thinner the air seemed to be. While initially, she was going to impress him with her ability to navigate their way back to their chambers when they were done, that idea quickly vanished with her memory of their path anywhere once they descended their second staircase. She stopped counting how many stories it would be and just made sure to keep hold of his hand.

Naturally, they ended up in the training yard first, the one place she appreciated the most. If there was anywhere in this whole city that she would find someone she knew, it would be there. In fact, Fíli and Tira occupied the ring, giving the pair a brief acknowledgement before jumping back into their drills.

“Let’s stay a bit,” Cori said, tugging him toward one of the benches and sitting them both down. Thorin grinned at her, but she ignored him; he acted as if they had somewhere to be today.  

Cori noticed little things about the way they moved that would have been disregarded many years ago (when she cared little for all their hacking away at each other). A head turn here, a step to the left where a feint to the right had been expected. When she started picking up all this, she could not say precisely, but it seemed so blatant now, she wondered how she could have overlooked it other than out of pure spite. Wife and husband fought similarly, actually. Fíli moved a little differently than she remembered after months of watching him skip around with his brother or uncle, and she recognized the twirl of the blade in Tira’s hand every couple of steps that the extremely skilled swordsman usually performed randomly, even in the middle of battling enemies. They seemed like a perfect blend of them both, adding strength where before there would have been just holes.

“Do spouses usually spar together?” she murmured in Thorin’s ear, unable to take her eyes from the dance going on in front of her.

“Frequently. It actually solves many marital disputes, from what I’ve observed. Not an uncommon occurrence to see a couple enthusiastically slashing at each other for hours before disappearing in a hurry toward their home. The heated blood of the dwarves comes from many different sources and takes a bit of work to dispel, in many creative ways.” Those last words tickled her ear and rumbled through the shoulder pressed to his chest.

“So I’ve seen.”

“You’ve seen nothing of reconciliation in the marital bed.”

“And you have?”

“You hear such talk when you spend the majority of your life around these people.”

“Well, I apologize for being a bore.”

He snorted. “I need nothing of that sort. You bring your own spice to our intimacy.”

“Maybe we should try the sparring trick, then. Add something new. It wouldn’t be hard for you to piss me off enough to challenge you to a dual. Again.”

“Considering how you’ve stolen me away from my duties today, suffice it to say you’ve earned part of the suspicion you’ve gained from many in this mountain. I will not tolerate thieves and spies in my kingdom.”

She rose and tugged at his hand. “You haven’t exactly put up much of a defense, inviting me into your kingdom and _other places_ within it.”

“Then perhaps I should be angry about the spell you’ve put on me.” He obliged, yet the dark edge in his eyes alluded to backtracking in their tour rather than moving forward.

“Or you should just surrender and consider yourself conquered.”

“What an enticing immurement.”

She might just have to find them an empty room to duck into for a bit.

When Fíli shooed them out of the room, claiming to be distracted by the “inappropriate” display on the sidelines (as if they had not seen him flashing sultry smirks to his wife), Thorin next led them to the grand library of Erebor, because he apparently indeed knew her quite well. While she expected a bit more than the few aisles of the Buckland archives, reality trounced her presuppositions. They entered a massive cavern supported by thick pillars in a few spots throughout the room, which were really the only breaks in the rows upon rows of stuffed shelves. There was a bit more to read than what Thorin’s private collection had to offer.

“Do you have the dwarves’ entire history in here?” she asked breathlessly, trying to fathom how there was a _second level,_ a balcony rounding the circumference of the room.

“You jest, but actually, yes. Smaug’s ruin did not reach this part of the kingdom. We have been able to copy certain records that age had devastated, so we truly have nearly everything that was here over a hundred years ago. And, honestly, we have some histories of other races as well.”

She turned, quirking an inquisitive brow.

“I believe we have a few pieces on hobbits. I am not the only one that gained a fascination for them, so most of them are newer. Bilbo generously supplied us with content.”

She would have to take some time to proofread them; however hobbity Bilbo was, he was certainly a one-of-a-kind. She hardly blamed him if he decided to tweak the truth just a tad when teaching a whole group of people about their kind, but there were some surface traits about hobbits that some dwarves would not bother to look beneath, which may result in a complete misunderstanding of hobbit’s worth (what else was new?).

Unexplainably, Thorin decided that she needed to know where the judicial chambers and such were. Future reference, he claimed, and she tried to block any thoughts leading in the direction of his insinuations before she truly lost her wits. Then he claimed that it was where he spent the majority of his time, so she would know where to find him if she needed to. “Barge on in,” he said, as if she needed anyone’s permission to see him. Otherwise, all that remained of that floor were the offices of the court officials. When he showed her Balin’s private study, she insisted on poking her head in. Currently holding a meeting with an architect, the older dwarf smiled and waved as she quickly ducked out of the room. Thorin smiled at her flushed cheeks. “He’s usually very busy.”

“Doing your work for you?”

“It’s his privilege.” He pulled her back into his side as they continued down the corridor, steadfast when she tried to free herself and keeping his sparkling eyes on their path. A few paces down, they came upon a thick wood door etched with various runes. It sat by itself, the walls leading up to it carved with reliefs of dwarves. Armies, vast halls with high pillars, and dragons accompanied them. Cori studied them closely, suddenly a little embarrassed by how the numerous events depicted overwhelmed her.

“The dwarves’ return to Erebor under the leadership of King Thrór,” Thorin explained, reading her open befuddlement. He spoke as they ambled along slowly. “It briefly covers the founding of the Lonely Mountain. Later, when great wealth had been discovered in Ered Mithrin, my namesake, Thorin I, led some of Durin’s folk there. But they were driven out by dragons, and my grandfather brought them back here where they remained in lavished establishment until Smaug’s attack.”

“I…didn’t know about any of that,” she murmured, staring at the cold-drakes hovering over the arches of mountains.

“I would be surprised if you did. They are not secrets, but only scholars of other races have studied the histories of the dwarves.”

“Simple folk in the Shire barely know much of our own, let alone pay attention to anyone else.” Her eyes flickered to the ground as she ambled away from the wall. Before she could get far, though, a hand grabbed hers and halted her. She looked up into Thorin’s inviting gaze.

“If you think anyone is going to doubt you for knowing little of us, rest assured that they would be glad to hear it. It is not expected of you.”

“I think it’d be rude to live here and not make an attempt. Especially since it pertains to you.”

“What’s my most treasured memory?”

Her brow scrunched. “You and Dwalin taking the boys out on their first hunting trip into the wilderness. You told me in one of your letters from about a year ago.”

He grinned. “You remembered that. _That_ is what’s important to me. I wouldn’t be offended if you couldn’t name my great-great-grandmother’s brother at the drop of a hat.”

“You really like to forget what you do for a living, don’t you?”

“Or maybe I would prefer that my professional life stay out of my personal life. Did we not begin this engagement with that idea?”

“I’m not going to take the blame if your kingdom falls to ruin again.”

He chuckled. “I would like to see someone try to convict you, with the line of support you seemed to have in court the other day.”

Petty opinions of others were unwarranted. No, the doubt lay in herself. Simple folk had no business meddling in grand affairs like long lineages of other peoples and their accomplishments down the line. They were too busy keeping up with their own family tree to make sure they did not end up marrying a first cousin (happened more often than not). Cori looked at the reliefs on the wall and suddenly felt nauseous. What exactly would be expected of her in this position at Thorin’s side, no matter what her title ended up being?

It would have to be something monumental, if they wanted to see her crack. She straightened her spine. That was a bridge to cross when she was not miles away from it.

“The art not to your liking?”

She blinked; she had been staring at it in silence. “It’s the stone, actually.”

“Too much of it?”

“I haven’t seen anything that’s _not_ made of it yet.”

“Then come. I will show you my office.”

Which was exactly where they had been going. At the end of the visually pleasing hallway, Thorin produced a key from his coat pocket and shoved it into the lock, twisting it deftly. The room was dark, though a small skylight built near the back over the large desk would cast sunlight down in the morning. Volumes and scrolls lined the walls, a plethora of weapons mounted in any available space. A tapestry hung down from the ceiling behind the high-backed chair pushed against the desk. As Cori studied the comfortable settee sitting against the wall between two shelves, Thorin lit a few candles, allowing her to see the details of the room clearer. “This room always belonged to the kings of Erebor,” he explained, his eyes fixed on the tapestry. She recognized the dwarf in the middle of it from a range of other artifacts throughout the mountain, massive grey beard draped over his golden breastplate and mighty sword in hand: Thrór.

Looking at the desk, she could see Thorin sitting there, dealing with stately matters on a regular basis with his chin tilted up that certain way. He would lean an elbow on the top and stroke his beard with that hand as he decisively considered whatever proposal had come to him that day. He always held positons of power with such grace and belonging. Cori looked back on all the times she had witnessed it, a little knot forming in her lower belly when she focused too long. “How much time do you spend in here in a day?”

“Too much. At least before you arrived.”

“You didn’t exactly sound like you’d been kind to yourself in your letters.”

“It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.”

She ran a hand down the strong back of the chair, touching the blue velvet seat with a delicate hand. She had never seen such a simple piece of furniture look so fine. “Seems pretty comfortable.”

“My chambers were too quiet. The bed was too large. Too…lonely.”

She looked up, taking in the shadows of the small flame dancing across his face. The room itself put years on him. “Not my fault, remember?”

He nodded. “I am being grouchy.” He stepped around the desk, grasping her by the waist and placing her onto the top. A long breath heaved out. “Or not agreeable at all. Especially this morning. I brushed aside your irritation by just citing your misunderstanding as the cause for your plight about being left in our rooms. But I was negligent. No, I did not wish to keep you locked up, but it also didn’t occur to me that you had nowhere else to go, or that you were all alone during the day. That is an oversight by me, and if I claimed to know you, it should not have happened. It may take some time to get used to you being here in general, not just by my side at night, but I promise I will work toward that diligently until you are before every other thought in my mind.”

It would be so easy to just concur and watch him pour every ounce of his effort toward her. She felt that before, when they had precious little time together before their duties split them in two. But the easy road usually was not the right one, if someone thought with a lick of sense. She reached up, skimming both hands around his jaw to cup his cheeks. “I can take care of myself. But so many lives depend on you. I won’t let you give me more than I’m fairly allotted.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe that’s how it is supposed to work.”

“We don’t have the luxury of a typical relationship. We just have to make do with what we’ve got. Don’t exhaust yourself or your people with unnecessary strides to make me happy. Remember? I’m easy; all _you_ have to do is show up.”

He smiled, leaning forward until their noses touched. “I am courting you. While we do not have to do it the traditional way, as some of our customs would mean nothing to you, I will give you the same amount of attention.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Thorin…”

“It is fair, and that will be the end of your protest.” He covered her mouth with his, and she decided that it was better than scrambling for more purchase in the argument. _Much_ better.

A quick snog before moving on through the rest of their journey? Oh, no. While Cori would have been content with it, he thought otherwise. When he reached beneath the hem of her tunic for the laces on her trousers, she chuckled against his lips. Now a snog just sounded incredibly disappointing. She would make sure “quick” was not how the next while could be described.

                *****************************

By the time Thorin showed her through the event halls, dining chambers, and the throne room, Cori wanted their room back. Maybe it was to put her overtaxed feet up on a stool for a moment, or to soak up what little sun filtered through the glass of the windows. But then she thought about it, and even that did not seem satisfactory in her head. Nothing did. She had an itch, a little annoying fidget, that made her want to squirm. And then she wanted to scream because she could think of no remedy for it. There was no discernable cause. She dare not say anything to Thorin; she already crossed a boundary by keeping him away from his duties today, so whining about something with no grounds for it just seemed unproductive, and especially obnoxious to herself (the Houndberrys would not be caught whining).

She only had one clue. Every narrow corridor they went down had her chest squeezing so tight she struggled to draw a breath.

_“It’s the stone, actually."_

_“Too much of it?"_

She thought of the trees and the tall grass that blew in a summer breeze outside, and her blood calmed.

“One more place,” she called out. Thorin had just begun to drag her back toward their chambers from the front hall where they observed the statues and tapestries there. She planted her feet and stopped him in his tracks.

He tilted his head back, feigning a tug on her arm. “If you presumed that I was done with you in my study, you did so wrongly.”

“Well, you’re going to have to put a lid on it like the mature, sensible dwarf that you are. There’s somebody in this mountain I haven’t seen yet, and I won’t put it off any longer.”

A small grin flickered onto his face. “I suppose it would be cruel to keep you away from her any longer. She’s anxiously awaited your return.”

“Perfect. You can show me how to get there and drop me off.”

Mischief sparked in his eyes. “Their home is, as you said before, in an ‘obscure deep corner’ of the lower levels. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you to find your own way back. How about I send somebody down to get you after an hour or so?”

“I want to argue, but I feel like you have the upper hand here.” She scowled at three separated passages out of the corridor they stood in, each one leading into a dark abyss, and her skin crawled.

“You can be persuasive, but your safety is imperative, even if you’re unhappy about it.” He tucked her against his side and led her down toward a long flight of stairs (as usual, lacking any railings to keep anyone from plummeting to the bottom several stories down). “Don’t let that keep you from raising your voice, though.”

“Did you anticipate that it would?”

He scoffed. “These halls will echo the spite of Cori Houndberry long after you’re gone. _That_ I foresee.”

“Hm.” Dwarves responded to brusqueness. Maybe that was her ticket to respect around here.

By the time they reached the residences of the lower levels, Cori felt confident she could make it back up herself. They did not stray from the same staircase they began on at the top, and the halls themselves were relatively straightforward. Still, considering her misgivings about herself from earlier, and her incessant voicing of them, Thorin most likely would not release her to her own devices. There was no point in making him worry anyway.

The apartments had been carved in a curved wall at the bottom of a ravine with a catwalk to connect them all; below it was a common area where several dwarves stood talking or playing a game around a table. A tavern without a bottomless supply of ale (though there were a few mugs sitting around). Torches were sparse, so Cori had to squint to see the doors to the dwellings on the opposite side. As they walked, she counted how many doors they passed. The one he finally stopped at was number twenty-nine.

“Did you accomplish what you intended to today?” he asked. There was a lilt to his voice that the genuine question seemed to mask only slightly.

“Do _you_ think I was successful?”

“You know how to navigate your new home now, and you made me skip a meeting, however banal it was.”

She snorted. “This tour wasn’t to move your concentration to me. It was so I didn’t have to depend on you for entertainment. This way, I’m less tempted to steal away your time, like I did today.”

He pressed a tender kiss to her lips, brushing his nose against hers. “If I could give you all of my time, _khajimel,_ I would.”

“I know.” She returned the gesture with a quick peck. “Now go do something productive so I don’t feel guilty.”

Leaving her with a small smile and a touch of his fingers to her cheek, he marched back the way they had come. She shamelessly ogled the sway of his shoulders and the power in each of his steps until he was out of sight, and she turned with a sigh to knock on the door. Then she realized that it barely made a sound through the thick door, and just banged her fist on it instead. Only a moment passed before it swung open, and standing in the doorway was a young girl with brown braids and a burgundy dress. A shining smile was already on her face, only brightening. Cori’s eyes widened. “Giver, you’re so big.”

The dwarfling giggled, flinging herself at the hobbit and latching onto her torso. The impact nearly had Cori stumbling back, and that grip did not match the tiny body situated against her. “You’re finally back!”          

“Enna, let the woman in,” a familiar chuckle came from inside the home, and a large figure completely blocked up the door frame. The cordial smile of Nidor, son of Nore, compromised his hulking presence, however. His gentleness was fixated on his daughter first, and then raised up to greet her. “A pleasure again, my lady hobbit.”

Their first face-to-face interaction had, indeed, been a pleasant one, though more so for him. After seeking him out and informing him that his only living family, his missing daughter, lived, she just gained a heap of remorse for having once considered the errand too bothersome to go through with. Not her finest hour, though that might define a substantial bit of her life. But she reminded herself that she had not only accomplished it in the end, but did more for the dwarves than she ever thought herself capable of. When Enna rushed over to share her enthusiasm with him through an exuberant hug, Cori saw contentment fall over him, and she had just a little more proof that her final choice had not been poor judgment.

Dwarves were her life, and that was just fine.

Their small apartment was about the size of Thorin’s chambers, but a perfectly comfortable space for two. A fireplace blazed warmly at the other end. A table sat in front of the flames with papers scattered across it, and a settee had been thrust against the smooth rock wall to the left of it. Two rooms opened up on opposite sides of the sitting chamber, the arched doorways lined with runes from top to bottom. The lighting was about the same as outside, so quite comfortable for them. This kind of dwelling would have been allotted to Cori’s family. “Weren’t you on court in Durmark?” she asked, as they sat down at the table and shared a few pieces of freshly made bread.

Nidor nodded, slicing his daughter’s portion. “Yes, I was.”

“That means nothing in Erebor?”

He grinned. “I hadn’t entirely wanted it to, no. My father was on court, so when the council of Durmark came up short filling in the seats that the Men left vacant, I was high on the list. I never enjoyed it; Mivror made sure of it. I was a miner before anything else, and that is all I am now. No, I wouldn’t have taken any charity.”

“It’s not charity if you earn it.”

“I have paid for this place with my own two hands, not with a seat I used to sit on. _That_ is an earned living.”

“Hear, hear.”

They toasted a mug of ale, sharing a laugh when Enna joined in with her own cup. She shyly focused on her bread, but the smile on her face stuck.

“Not as if the king never tried,” Nidor continued. “Your association with my daughter might have set us up for life, had I not declined. All on a chance encounter.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped him from trying, if I was here. Keeping her alive and sending you to her wouldn’t have amounted to anything if I let the hardships of mundane life get you instead.”

“You have a benevolent heart. I see why the king has chosen you to rule with him.”

She choked on her ale, scrunching her eyes at the burn in her throat. Amidst the coughing, she managed to squeeze out, “What?”

After the concern faded from his face, he nodded. “It’s been the talk of the mountain after people received letters from their relatives in Ered Luin about King Thorin taking up with a halfling girl during the struggle with Ryone.”

 _Rule?_ Overdramatic dwarves; rumors never paid any homage to facts.

He smirked. “Surely you knew.”

“About the relationship? Oh, yeah, great time. Just…try not to let talk solidify.”

“I may not have been in court very long, Miss Cori, but I certainly learned how to distinguish running mouths. But it was very clear that something was missing in the king’s life. Then the rumors began, and I learned he wrote to you even more frequently than we did, and it connected.”

“How did you…?”

“I have pined once before. It leaves a very distinct impact.”

Maybe Dís had not been exaggerating. Incredibly lucky for her that Thorin was such a good diplomat, or she may have actually been responsible for the misfunctioning of the king at a crucial time.

“Have things been well, though?” she asked, hoping to steer away from the conversation before her face burst into flames.

“The prosperity of the mountain has been good to us, yes. Through consistent communication with Lady Dís, we have been introduced to many friendly folk here. Enna in particular, actually.”

The girl bobbed her head excitably. “I made some friends before Papa came. There was Bomfer, but he was a little mean, so I mostly played with Rith and Bombith. They liked building things, too.”

“The children of Bombur,” Nidor clarified, “one of the company of King Thorin that reclaimed Erebor from the dragon.”

Cori lifted her brow. “Those’re some esteemed companions.”

“You wouldn’t know it. I met with some of Bombur’s family who also went on the quest. They all seem a nobler group than many I’ve met, and half the boast. They deserve the lot they’ve been given, for all they’ve done for Durin’s folk.”

Years ago, Cori would have had much to say about such a claim. Her particular experience with Thorin’s company involved a complete lack of respect for the delicious cuisine of Rivendell which, while not aimed at her, rubbed off like a personal affront. Oh, she had been so disgruntled with Thorin for disregarding his men’s insolent behavior. Considering those of the company she had personally met so far, she now could take Nidor at his word.

Yet, that shed light on a whole new conundrum.

That night, as the continuation of their midday rendezvous came to an exhilarating end, Cori turned her head to kiss the handsome lazy grin on Thorin’s face. “I want you to introduce me to some people.”

He groaned sleepily, tugging her back against his chest. “Who would that be?”

“Guess.”

His eyes opened. “And why would you ever want to meet _them_?”

“It would be the highest honor to meet the most loyal followers of Thorin Oakenshield. And I will tell them you said that.”

“I have said worse in their presence. They know me better than most.” He sighed, burying his nose into her hair. “Very well. I will have something arranged. Now stop talking and sleep.”

She obeyed, smirking at the grunted response to her heel seeking delicate areas.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heck of a week. Had some family issues, but they're smoothing out a bit for now.  
> And we have a restless hobbit who's trying to keep herself from going stir crazy. At least she has the idea to do something about it. I just sit and stare at the wall and think about doing some productive and beneficial. I think I'd be content with the sexy dwarf and the big warm bed, but to each their own.  
> This was the chapter I struggled on a while back, if you wanted to know. I'm so tired of looking at it. XD
> 
> <3


	8. Belonging

She made a path. Now it was time to walk it. She had but the choice of which direction to go first. Each one still seemed limited.

The idleness of several days really settled poorly in Cori’s stomach, and everywhere else in her body. She had energy she did not know could fester in her, and while her level of physical activity still peaked thanks to her number one interest and the bottomless hunger that came with him, there was a keen lack of variety in her routine. She came to an irritating conclusion that called for immediate action: this itch that manifested in her limbs and made her restlessly flit around the room, tending to the fire and restacking a pile of books for the third time, was called uselessness.

It was so foreign. Nobody had ever _not_ needed her to do something, whether it was sow a hole in a pair of trousers or put Shadow to the plow for somebody’s field when their own animal became sick. Even throughout her time on the road, she devoted a portion of her earnings to her family, which would be countered as unnecessary but her parents had always held their Houndberry and Birdlelark pride firmly (the abundance of farmers rarely allowed those in the profession more than what got them by until market day). She was the only one in this dratted mountain that did not know her place.

Surrounded by dwarves at all times, however, she gained some swift inspiration for what might be deemed “useful.”

With the map still fresh in her head from the day before, Cori ventured out of the Royal Halls and down toward the training yard. Her arrows rattled in her quiver with every spring in her step and her bow rested across her chest in the manner so familiar, it was just another piece of her clothing. Her sword thumped against her hip; today would include shaking off the rust in her aim and on her drawing arm, but what could hurt to keep some options open? After a panicked moment of double checking the accuracy of her route, she came upon the familiar doorway and the staircase beyond it. Nearly stumbling down the steps in urgency to leave the even tighter corridor, she entered the training quarters.

Nobody had the center floor, but the torches flickered against the walls. Someone was here. She marched through the ring to the small doorway opposite to the entrance and passed through. On the other side, a wide rectangular shooting range extended far back toward the middle of the mountain, wooden stands with brightly-painted targets sitting on the other end. The lighting was better there. And this room was not deserted.

As she entered, a synchronized shift of attention fell straight onto her from the targets in front of each dwarf, and she had the immediate instinct to curl in on herself and pretend she was not there. So, naturally, she straightened her spine and continued into the room, completely ignoring the heat of the scowls pointed in her direction. There was only one gaze she could not dismiss, and it was the sole pair of eyes that did not set her ablaze.

Kíli beamed brightly, particularly focusing on her weapons. “About time you all got room to breathe.”

“You’re telling me.” She unstrapped her sword and placed it next to her skin of water, leant against the wall. When he touched her elbow softly, she looked up into his gentle brown eyes.

“Pay no mind to them. They’re all in a bad mood. It’s mostly at me, though I think I should push it off to Thorin for making me double drills after the attack.”

She petted his hand, granting him a smile. “If they want to pout, let them. Best to get it out of their system all at once.”

“I’m still going to make sure they know how unfounded it is.”

“And how’re you going to do that, unless you’ve mastered emotional manipulation in the past two years, which I would have to scold you for because that’s not right?”

As always, there was a scheme behind the innocent face, and that was all the warning she got before he abruptly whirled around and strode with all the confidence of a prince toward his troop. She did not see his face as he did, but the others’ were on full display. They shifted uncomfortably, like a group of school children caught in the midst of pulling a prank on the teacher. “You’re looking at the archer that killed Ryone of Rohan in the final moments of the Battle out of Oatbarton,” he said, jerking his head toward her. “A single arrow between the eyes after she took a knife to the stomach. A finer woman I haven’t met. You might learn a thing or two. Mind a demonstration, Cori?”

It would not do to wring the neck of the king’s heir in front of his soldiers, as she had to remind herself yet again, so she would have to postpone that. Beforehand, she would remind him that lying was bad, especially when she would be the one bitten if the truth ever came out. But now, she had an audience waiting for her to answer the prince’s question. “Not a problem.” Gripping her bow, she stepped toward a target reluctantly vacated for her. Her stomach twisted alarmingly. She was as much as boasting the prowess that Kíli assured them she had; surely they would not take it well. She could practically hear their disgruntled thoughts through their grimaces.

They are just going to have to get over themselves.

Nocking an arrow, she drew and released immediately. The arrow thunked into the wooden plank with a resounding echo from the other end of the room. Only a finger’s width from the center dot. Her audience murmured, shifting almost uncomfortably.

“Once got a deer right in the heart,” Kíli announced, his wide grin in place.

“I think it was in the lungs.”

“No, it died quickly. That was a direct hit. A professional hunter has to be a good shot, or all those struggling animals end up clouding your conscience and throwing off your nerve.”

“You’re a hunter?” one dwarf asked, leaning on his bow.

“Furrier,” she clarified. “I was.”

“The best pelts in all of Eriador, I guarantee it.”

It was time to call him back down a bit. “Now you’re embellishing.”

“I get to showcase your work on that new coat you gave me once winter settles in, and I’m anticipating compliments straight out of the door. And I’ve got every intention of making it known just whose handiwork it is. Don’t tell me you feel like your art’s inferior to anyone else when it lies on the king’s bed.”

Now that awoke an audible grumble. She felt her cheeks flame. He was doing this on purpose. “A pelt is a pelt. Luck of the draw, literally, when you manage to find a quality fur. It doesn’t matter who took down the animal, but what shape the individual animal was in before being shot down.”

“I think Lord Dáin, another of your patrons, would beg to differ as well.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Another dwarf picked up his bow and marched off toward the doorway with a long stride.

“We’re not done, Báir,” Kíli called out, his nonchalance surprisingly commanding.

“I would take my leave, so long as the halfling stays. I’d prefer not to be in suspect fellowship.”

Kíli snorted. “Why don’t you put your prejudice aside for a moment and listen to facts? She fought the rebels. I don’t think you need any more evidence to the contrary than that.”

“She disgraces these halls,” another dwarf from the pack grumbled.

“I’m right here,” she murmured.

He turned to her. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Actually, she is,” Kíli interrupted, ambling over to her. “The king has welcomed her into the city, and I welcome her here. If you can’t offer the same consideration you would give a dwarven archer, then I deem your judgment unfit for the company. If you leave now, you’re off.”

The dwarf halfway out the door raised a brow. “You are incorporating her?”

“Considering it.”

With a raise of his meaty hand, the dwarf stomped out, leaving behind a quiet group. The rest looked to each other, weighing the various opinions passing between them.

“You’re all free to go,” Kíli said, gesturing to the door. “No consequences, except remaining unqualified to rejoin at any other time. I’d suggest thinking about it a little longer than that.”

Some advice they heeded. Quietly, they turned their backs and lined up to return to their shooting, and wordless was how they remained for some time. The bow was not a typical weapon of the dwarves; those who took them up to begin with would find it hard to walk away so easily.

Cori, however, did not keep to herself. As Kíli walked back toward his own equipment, a smirk crooked within his bushy beard, she strode up next to him and grabbed his arm. “What was that?”

He shrugged. “What?”

“You were about to throw away your team,” she hissed, trying to draw him further out of earshot so she could lay into him like she wanted to. “As if I’d make up for it. What were you on about?”

“If they aren’t willing to fight next to you, do you think they’d be willing to fight _for_ you?”

She paused, glancing toward the ground. Something akin to a heavy rock settled in her stomach. “I wouldn’t…”

“For Mahal’s sake, Cori, at the very least, you’re going to be queen consort. This whole mountain will be devoted to keeping you safe just as they are to Thorin, especially if you have kids.”

She blinked. “Uh, that hasn’t even…we’re only courting…”

“I know you didn’t cross Middle-earth just to visit me, Fíli, and Dwalin.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Of course, you did. But we aren’t who was on your mind during your journey. Come on.” He finally lowered his voice. “You aren’t terribly subtle. Frankly, it’s a little disgusting.”

She glanced toward the dwarves lined up in front of the targets. Even then, she remembered when three of Thorin’s guards on the mission against Ryone laid down their lives for her and the sons of Durin on the banks of the River Lune. Numb and confused afterward, she tried to make sense of that kind of devotion. It was not logical; the obvious choice would be to live. It was faith and hope that drove it, and the mindset would continue on: things would be better if they were the ones to die.

But it was one more life gone out of this world and into the next, and she would never understand it.

“And about the whole ‘losing my team’ thing, we don’t need archers. Thorin thinks it’s important for food and whatnot, but the dwarves have carried on in battle for centuries without them. We have more effective machinery. Fíli’s in charge of warfare next to Dwalin, so this is just my little contribution to the cause. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was placation from Thorin to keep me out of Mirkwood.”

“If I’ve learned anything, Kíli, you’ve got to talk to the man. Things can only get worse if you don’t.”

He snorted. “I’ll definitely use you as a cautionary tale, thanks.”

Kíli should have known how to deal with his uncle. He knew him much longer than Cori did, after all. Still, his reluctance to seek out the older dwarf had her wondering to what extent Thorin would react to finding out that his nephew sought romantic company in the form of an elf. Of their kind, he was less than fond, and if anyone had the right to hold such a grudge, it was him. But he made himself the bigger person in so many other scenarios. Would he not even try to understand?

Again, Cori had to sit on her hands, and she did not like it one bit.

                         ************************

For the following couple of days, things were quiet. No incidences, like Kíli promised, and Cori felt a little better with something to do and more places for her itchy feet to carry her. While she found it much easier to navigate the city in a shorter amount of time than she anticipated, she was still unsettled. That was an irritant she just could not scratch.

If she were honest, she did not expect Thorin to remember the promise he made. Post-coital bliss seemed to have the same intoxicating effect on them both as a good few mugs of ale. Yet, two days later, she received an invitation, in the morning after Thorin disappeared to play monarch, summoning her to the smaller dining hall for an early supper. The whole day, she anticipated it with all the giddiness of a child during Yuletime. But, of course, it did not last, and the preceding hour that she spent preparing for it, her stomach never stopped churning. Why? How should she know why her subconscious generally dismantled delightful occasions with trepidation? It had the willpower of a mule.

“You won’t impress anyone in that bunch with fancy dresses,” Fíli assured her as he walked down the long hallway with an elevated ceiling, a hobbit on one arm and a dwarrowdam on the other. “Most of those you haven’t met yet lived as you did before the Quest for Erebor. They’ve only recently come into their wealth thanks to the percentage of the treasure we were all promised in our contracts. They’ll look at your deeds and character first.”

“Of which you aren’t lacking,” Tira put in, grinning across her husband’s chest to her.

Kind of silly, actually, venting her apprehension with the excuse of feeling underdressed when she emerged from her room wearing a green vest and a brown skirt with her fur-trimmed jacket. This was a coming together of friends who had endured perilous trials together and still came out on the other side with everything and everyone intact. There was bonded, and then there was this group, or so she gleaned from the tales she had been fed so far.

Her dress was not the issue; these were not the snoots of Thorin’s advisors whose outdated opinion amounted to nothing in the grand scheme of things, but the people who knew him best. He said so himself. If she did not get on their good side, things would become exceedingly complicated. “I hope you’re right.”

“Considering you’re in Thorin’s good graces as well as a friend of Bilbo’s, you will automatically be received with open arms.” Fíli patted her clenched hand as well as he could with Tira clasped onto that arm. “You’ve done just as much, if not more, than Bilbo did. All anyone has to do is vouch for your bravery and you’re in for life.”

“Is that…a good thing?”

“Yes and no.” He winked. All right, so he had no idea what was going to happen. Well, if there was one thing she did thoroughly, it was live dangerously.

As the gathering was reserved entirely for the company and Cori, Tira kissed the prince goodbye and disappeared through a nearby doorway to tend to some high-priority errand. Cori laughed at the pensive smile Fíli sent to the retreating dam’s back, recalling the same look on her brothers’ faces when they stared after their partners. “Sap.”

“I love my wife.”

She hugged his arm tighter, boasting a delighted and very self-satisfied smile. “Good.”

At the end of the hall was a high door reaching into the never-ending chasm above their heads, two guards standing by them on either side. They bowed their heads respectfully to the approaching pair, and the one on the right reached for the handle. As soon as the door cracked, the echo of multiple voices drifted from the room within. When they entered the hall, her eyes immediately fixed onto those she recognized. Dwalin was standing by the fire, conversing with Balin over a pint of ale. Kíli had his hand clasped over the palm of another dwarf with brown hair which was mostly covered by a hat (which she would not have minded wearing herself). And standing nearby, watching them with an amused smirk, was Thorin, relieved of the kingly garb he left their chambers in that morning and instead dressed in a casual tunic and vest with his old traveling boots on. He turned and smiled upon her and his nephew, and she soared. _That_ was the Thorin she had come to love. As he approached, Fíli gave her a pat on the arm before shuffling off to cheer on his brother, who was gaining ground. Thorin clasped her cheeks between his hands, laying a gentle kiss on her lips. “You look wonderful, darling.”

She beamed, pecking his left palm before he could pull it away. “Good. I spent all of five minutes getting ready.”

He chuckled, drawing her into his side with a gentle grip around her waist. “It was all you needed.”

“I hope so. I need something to make up for the bad impression I’m about to make.”

“Well, let’s see to that.” He cleared his throat loudly, calling the attention away from the game on the table and the overpowering conversation and achieving complete silence.

 _Goodness._ She suddenly felt the force in this dwarf that earned the fondness, friendliness, admiration, and reverence that came from every face in the room looking on him. But they did not stand on ceremony. They were just as comfortable standing in his presence as she was attached to his hip.

“My friends,” Thorin began, his teeth bared with the most handsome smile. “Thank you for coming tonight. Among all the dwarves under this mountain, you are the ones I place my unreserved and unconditional trust in. You were there at the time when I was tested to the highest degree, and you did not falter. You were with me around those campfires, and you bore the crickets and the light of the moon on my behalf, and did so with a grin. You fought for your lives, and you defended me without question. It was the most challenging and rewarding time of my life, and I would never, for all the glory and gold in this world, replace you with anyone who would dare consider themselves more worthy. You are my kin and my companions and I am proud to name you such.”

“Hear, hear!” someone shouted, invoking a hearty response with a raise of mugs.

“Now, I would like to share with you one more piece of my life, and the most important. Some of you know, but for those who do not, here it is. Our fight with the madman of Rohan, Ryone, almost three years ago would have been a devastating failure and a degradation of dwarrowkind if not for one thing that we have all been privileged to witness: the courage of hobbits.” He slipped his finger beneath the shell of her scarred ear and turned it outward. “Just as Bilbo had done, this one chose to place herself in the sword’s path for the sake of us all, never demanding anything for compensation. Her selfless acts turned the tide, placing the dwarves in a debt that can never be paid. And I have never been more in love with someone in my whole life. Our most esteemed guest of honor tonight is the lass that has made the perilous, unwise decision of returning my feelings, Cori Houndberry.”

While the company cheered and hollered without restraint, Cori stared wonderstruck at the king grinning down at her. She heard him make convicting speeches before, but reciting poetry was a new one. And somehow, those words never sounded more believable than now. She rose up onto the tips of her toes and poured herself into a dizzying kiss. He weighed into her, the barest tilt in the corners of his mouth.

“He wasn’t kiddin’, lassie. You’ve made a grave mistake.”

She snorted, falling away from the kiss. She found the fond, dapper smile of the hatted dwarf who fell victim to a few shoves. “Oh, I know.”

“Thank you, Bofur,” Thorin replied dryly. “But let’s see if we can’t drive her away just yet. How about we take a look at what Bombur has prepared for us?” At his word, the ants swarmed, descending upon the covered display emitting delicious smells and digging in with abandon. There was playful pushing and shoving, mostly between brothers, but not a single drop or piece landed anywhere but a plate or mouth. Very familiar to the hobbit. Thorin, who moved behind her to wrap both arms around her waist, sighed into her hair. “There was supposed to be something in there about you going first.”

“Even I know you have to use direct words to get anywhere with dwarves. And you’re the king of them?”

He chuckled. “If there was any threat of you missing out on your share, I would stop it right now. Bombur would never let anyone go hungry.”

Her eyes widened at the spread laid out before them. It could be Midsummer’s Eve, for all she knew. How could she possibly taste it all? “I hope you got an eyeful of the muscles I worked hard for, because they’ll be gone by the end of the month at this rate.”

“I would have you a little shapelier. I wouldn’t have to worry about you blowing away in the slightest breeze.”

She slipped out of his grasp, sending a glare over her shoulder. “I’m not _that_ thin.”

“Lighter than a feather pillow.”

“But still robust.”

“Very few have the gall to pin me to the mattress and take what they want from me. I do not doubt your formidability, Miss Houndberry.”

She pressed closer to him again as they fell in line at the table. “Stop it. You’re giving me ideas.”

“I should continue then.”

A low groan came from beside them. “Ugh, save the snogging for when I’m not around.”

Quickly escaping Thorin’s grasp, she took a single stride to reach the culprit and bounced up to place a swift peck on his furry cheek. “You can’t blame him, Mister Dwalin. It’s that nasty spell of hobbits that’s got him, after all.”

At the insistence of the dashing, persuasive princes, once she gathered a sufficient meal to start with, she settled on a comfortable, cushioned chair between the two of them. Strategically, she ended up right in the middle of the table, in the thick of the dwarf mob with whom she was partly unfamiliar. The group did not seem to have any hesitations with including her in the conversation, and unsurprisingly, her bout of insecurity earlier evaporated in the haze of pipe smoke.

“A real shame you had to meet _this_ bonehead before the rest of us,” said the dwarf sitting across from her with his chestnut hair curved into three points on his head. Nori, he was, wayward brother of Dori and Ori, according to Dwalin, which prompted the current battle for dominance. By the contagious eye-rolling moving up and down the table, this was no new development. Cori just thought they were being dwarves.

“What’d be a real shame was if she’da met ye to begin with,” Dwalin replied after a quick swig of ale, his accent thicker than the liquid in his cup. How much he had had before Cori arrived was a bigger mystery than Holland Twigfit’s infamous pie disappearance around her tenth birthday. It was a delicious pie, she recalled with a smile. But Dwalin’s slipping sobriety was an even greater source of entertainment. “She don’t need to be introduced to yer style o’ livin’. That’s not any kinda stress she should be under.”

“If you remember, chief of _sword polishing,_ it was _my_ influence that gave Bilbo the means to sneak ‘round underneath the nose of a dragon. And what’d you do on the whole? Grunt and moan and complain about this and that, swingin’ your ax around.”

“Hogwash!” Dwalin exclaimed, slamming his tankard down with enough force to rock all the dishes. “Hobbits got that talent already. It’s in their blood, much as fightin’s in ours. And I’ll be glad to show ye how much fight’s in mine if ye dare try to wriggle yer way anywhere near Cori, ya slimy git. Thorin, forbid this criminal from ever gettin’ a foot from the queen.”

Before Cori could butt in with a quick and thorough rebuke about using that word around her, Thorin’s low chuckle came from the head of the table. His cheeks were already flushed with drink. “You know better than anyone that she makes her own rules. I am no more in control of her than you are of him. I thought that was clear, considering the amount of time she spends with you.”

The table rumbled with the booming laughter of a dozen dwarves. Amidst it all, Dwalin pouted into his mug, giving the victor a side eye.

Cori grinned at the smug recipient. Her interest spiked when he gave her a charming wink. “And what are you, Master Nori?”

Dori, his white-haired brother beside him, groaned into the air. “Here we go.”

Cori, suddenly picked up underneath her arms like a child, found herself on the lap of Kíli who had taken on a cat-like grin. “See here, Miss Hobbit, you’ve just gone and made a big mistake.”

“Hush up, all of you!” Nori shouted. “The lady asked a question and I’m most inclined to answer her. My dear, what’s more significant than the title I have is what I do. I hold an extremely vital position within the mountain that requires me to risk life and limb for the sake of the city. In the name of my glorious king, I pass beyond enemy lines to procure information so safeguarded, it’s as if they lay behind the Black Gate itself. With this information, we can best decide who we should trust and who we should avoid at all costs.”

At the other end of the table, Glóin cleared his throat. “He’s the head of intelligence for Erebor, appointed when Thorin was drunk during the first celebration after we took back the mountain. A minor lapse in judgment—I apologize, cousin—that we tend to overlook.”

“He does nothing more than background checks on some prospective trade partners,” Dori assured her, reaching across the table to pat her hand. “He thinks because he stole a few spoons from elves, he’s deserving of some fancy title.”

“Oh, as if tailoring is such a noble profession,” Nori scoffed.

“At least it’s honest, you blooming thief!”

What followed was a tremendously zealous debate about what professions could be considered noble and which one of them held the most impressive designation. Somehow, within the predominantly incoherent jabbering, Cori managed to catch that Ori proudly held the position of Thorin’s official scribe and Glóin was in charge of where the mountain’s treasury dispensed the money. Oín, Glóin’s brother, announced the reputability of practicing medicine, all the while calling out for whoever challenged him to repeat themselves five times (he was deaf, she gathered, but that sparkle in his eye was a little suspicious). The hatted dwarf, Bofur, was shoved into a corner about how a simple mining job held little importance, yet he defended his happiness in his current position. His rotund brother, Bombur, argued that he was responsible for the delicious meal that was left untouched in front of them, and if he were not a major feature in the kitchens, they would have nothing to eat. Bifur, somehow relate to the U-R brothers though the exact kinship remained unknown to her, showed off a wooden eagle stashed in his pocket which he had just finished carving that afternoon. He tended to slip back and forth between Westron and Khuzdul, but Cori gathered that he measurably contributed to the toy market in Dale, which was known far and wide. It went without saying that this battle would not have a champion, nor would it be over before the sun rose.

In the midst of the commotion, Cori was plcuked effortlessly off Kíli’s lap, quite akin to a ragdoll. “I’ll take that,” said a low, smooth voice, and her travel through the air was short. Her landing was on yet another lap, and she suddenly had a view of the whole table and everyone at it. Turning the other way, she met a pair of dark blue eyes. “Am I a pipe to be passed around amongst your friends now?”

“No one else is to have their mouth on you.”

He would never admit to being jealous of his nephew, so she did not even attempt to extract that. Her giggle was cut short by the whiskers around his lips brushing her neck, and her cheeks glowed. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough to want to spread you across this table, but not enough to actually do it. At least not while we’re accompanied.”

She squirmed, which turned out to be a big mistake when he groaned. So that had _not_ been his belt after all.

Eventually, the argument morphed into laughter as the dwarves returned to their opulent meal. It was only when she was addressed, after Thorin paid less attention to her neck and more to the food she was trying to shove down his throat, that she realized the content of the conversation had not changed. “So, Cori, what did you do back in the Shire?” Ori asked, wide inquisitive eyes keenly awaiting her answer. The rest of the table focused in.

“I’m from a family of farmers, but so is pretty much everyone else there. I was a fur trader for about fifteen years. The road’s been my home until recently.”

“Are you going to keep doing that?” Ori inquired again. “Trading, I mean.”

She chanced a glance at the face next to hers. He just sat quietly, waiting patiently for her answer. “I’m not entirely sure that’s going to be an option.”

“And you’re just going to let all that talent go to waste,” Kíli tsked. “She can run circles around any elf with a bow.”

“Now there’s a lie.”

He quirked a brow. “Am I going to have to sing your praises again? I’ve already done it once today.”

“There will be no singing from you,” Fíli clapped him on the back of the head. “I’ve been charged with keeping your dignity intact.”

“I’d like to,” Cori continued cautiously. The promise of a long chat later burned into the side of her head. “We’ll just see.”

“An incredibly profitable venture,” Dwalin said, taking on the duty of following through with Kíli’s threat. The business savvy dwarves seemed impressed, as far as she could tell. “And not a bad reputation for quality neither.”

“I had a big family to take care of,” she shrugged.

“Eleven nieces and nephews,” Fíli declared with a grin, inspiring responses of varying degrees of shock.

She shook her head. “Twelve and counting, actually. Garth and Basil had theirs right before I left. Margow and my older brother’s wife Ivy were pregnant when I left.”

Bofur blinked at her. “Bless me, lass, you _are_ rabbits!”

Dwalin sputtered around his ale, bursting into a loud guffaw.

Cori cocked her head at Thorin. He grinned and clarified, “Beorn called Bilbo a ‘little bunny.’ He never heard the end of it.”

She would take it over “halfling.”

“This one’s no meek rabbit, though,” Dwalin said, pointing toward her. “She’s got some claws.”

“Where’s she been, then?” Glóin exclaimed, his face just as red as his beard. “Coulda used some claws and talents these past couple o’ years.”

“A profitable addition to the guard, I think.” Thorin looked her up and down appreciatively; an appraisal of worth, one may have guessed, but the heat in his gaze had something other than her capabilities in mind. She cooled herself down with a sip of wine; the alcohol gave her delightful images herself.

“Right you are!” Glóin cackled, thumping his mug on the table. “Especially since someone’s real bent on doing you in.”

Dwalin bellowed again. “Remember that first attempt? He didn’t even make it within a few feet. Where do ye think they’re gettin’ these half-baked blokes?”

Cori swallowed quickly before she could choke. “First attempt?”

Balin nodded to her right. “The king’s been a popular target for knife slingers as of late.”

She whipped her head toward Thorin. The lust had left his eyes, and he focused entirely on his hand drumming across the table. His jaw ground audibly.

“Oh.” Dwalin straightened up. “He didn’t tell ye.” The room fell silent.

Cori stared at Thorin, her heart sinking low into her belly. He still refused to look at her. That made her angrier. “How many times have you been attacked?”

Finally, he looked at her, face as stiff as steel. “I have never been attacked…”

“Thorin!”

He sighed, hand balling up. “The battle was the fifth event since our return.”

She jumped up from his lap, fighting the shaking in her hands. He followed her calmly with his gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What could you have done?” he countered defensively, taking on an accusatory tone. “You were almost a thousand miles away.”

“I thought we agreed we weren’t keeping things from each other.”

“Oh, yes, now you have a right to call on that?”

She flinched against the blow, as physical as words could be.

His head dropped into the hand propped on the chair’s arm, fingers rubbing forcefully into his eyes. A deathly silence settled over the table, interrupted only by the crackling of the fireplace at its side. Attention was split between concern and anger. Cori just heard the ringing in her ears.

“I take…” He sighed, his eyes fixated on his plate. What he was about to say was obvious, but what his face told was a different story. He would not have meant it.

“You’re a right arse,” she murmured through her constricted throat, suppressing every impulse to sprint for the door as she strode out of the room. Nobody got up to follow her, and she was relieved for it. The cool air of the hall sank into her skin, and all she wanted was the heat of the crowded room again to fuel her anger. She just wanted to cry now.

It was too much, was it not? It was too much to hope that, maybe, this could be her own fresh start, and she could leave the past where it lay. She expected a vindictive, self-righteous tosser to be the one to sling that particular mud first. Shame on her for thinking he had ever fully forgiven her for that.

She tried to take in a breath and calm herself down before she punched something, but it was a twofold injury when she realized that all there was to punch was stone. Too much stone. Too many walls. Air. She just needed some air.

By the grace of the Valar, she took no wrong turns on her way from her chambers to the stables, and she saw no face that would attempt to talk down her ire. She wanted to rage until she was far away, so she did not crash and lose all the energy to do this. It had been a week since she was outside this heap of rock. Too long.

They would just have to suffice with the note she left.

Shadow stamped in anticipation as she threw her saddle onto his back, ready for the looming moment of freedom. He took idleness no better than she did. And he had a ready ear for when the gate over her mouth opened. Right then, all that would fly out was every curse she had ever learned, and she bit her tongue. It was for the best until she was out of earshot of any bootlickers that would have a word or two about the colorful adjectives she would associate with their king.

She may even regret it later, too. Now, she needed to feel like she was not drowning.

Once Shadow had sufficiently worked out the kinks (he did not deserve her wrath), she let him free down the road to Dale. She took a long breath as the wind beat her face and the sunset cast a warm glow on her. The stretch of her muscles burned with such satisfaction, and she pushed her mount just a little bit harder. The weight of a whole mountain lifted off of her in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin Oakenshield: least successful drunk in Erebor.  
> Nothing seems to be going right for our little hobbit. (God, I just want to make her happy. Why can't I do that??!!)  
> Anyway, thank you all for the lovely feedback and kudos. Each one is a highlight to my day. It's almost October, so happy Halloween month! XD  
> Remember: I take criticism, and I do it gracefully. Have a question or a thought? Don't be shy. :)  
> Now I need to go study (midterms week). <3


	9. I Run to You

If Cori had been chasing the chance for more light, she was a little too late in her departure. Though it would have been nice if the warm sunshine of early autumn lasted just a bit longer, she would count her blessings. Night in the city of Dale was obscure and silent, but an open sky spread out above her.

And it was only after she made a quick grab at her waist that she realized that beneath that twinkling sea of stars was where she would sleep that night. Hindsight hit hard, especially when she could finally see through the thick haze of anger so much more intense than she had ever experienced. In her haste, she forgot money for an inn.

Her stomach rolled when she thought about going back. Too soon. Not even for the bed.

Stripping Shadow down, she tied him to a post outside what looked to be a deserted shop and sat down beneath the overhang of the roof. The inner workings of Dale were lost to her, but every other town of Men she had ever been to had nothing to say for her bedding down in their streets. If anything, they did not even notice her in the dark. So she sat in the still air, listening to the echoes of the tavern down the street, and breathed.

She wished, with all her worth, that she could feel this when in dwarven halls. For all their vastness and splendor, they were just stuffy caves. But they housed more than priceless jewels and metals. She had not seen the treasure hall, and if she never did the entire time she was there, nothing would change for her. She wanted the breathing beings. The life within that cold, dead tomb. But she could not have them without their beloved rock.

 _You did this to yourself,_ she thought, and somehow, she recalled thinking the same thing before about jumping in with dwarves. A certain cantankerous, infuriating dwarf.

Yavanna, she wanted to be near him.

A sigh in front of her broke through the quiet. She looked up from staring at her knees and fighting tears, locking eyes with the last face she expected on the city streets at night.

“Miss Hobbit?”

Her brow quirked. “Mister Man?”

King Bard grinned, searching up and down the street for something. “And what has brought you back to Dale?”

“Your architecture, milord. I rushed through so fast on my last pass that I couldn’t pause to appreciate it. Splendid.”

He nodded. “Yes, well, it can be appreciated better when there’s more than just the moon and stars on it.”

“Then what brings you out here?”

“It’s the only time I can look at it without causing a disturbance in the street.”

She stared at the calm disposition of this man—no bitterness or resentment on it despite his words. A king did not need physical walls around him to be set apart. “So you’d approach a random stranger on the street by yourself?”

“One of my guards pointed you out, actually.” He gestured to the assembly of five armed soldiers gathered nearby. “And if you were not a hobbit, you could only be a small child, and neither of which I feel would be detrimental to my health.”

 _I have a good number of Mannish tally marks that would beg to differ._ She took his outstretched hand anyway and let him pull her to her feet. “I have nothing on me but a knife. My sword and bow are with my stuff.” She pointed to her saddle.

“You aren’t prepared for a long journey,” he said after observing her belongings. Then he scrutinized her person. “Certainly not dressed for it.”

“I’m a creature of the sun, my lord. And if I can’t get that, I’ll settle for the moon. What sits poorly with me is when I can’t see either.”

He hummed. When he glanced toward the mountain, she knew he made the connection. “Well, Miss Hobbit, the stars are quite lovely from the windows of my guest rooms.” Before her mouth could open, he called to his men who proceeded to gather her things, untie Shadow, and follow the king’s finger when he pointed it toward a large iron gate at the end of the street. “And the beloved of the King Under the Mountain has no business spending the night on the street.”

He would have offered anyway, no matter who she was; King Bard of Dale reputably prized life of the common folk above all else, which was no surprise given his origins. But his choice of words gained her annoyance: she had nothing to her name here but what Bard called her, despite all she built for herself. “By your leave.”

Behind the iron gate lay a courtyard with a clear pool of water sparkling with starlight in the middle. To the right were the stables wherein Shadow disappeared with a groom. Wondering where all her belongings had gotten to, Cori trailed behind the tall Man ambling leisurely toward the wide double door on the far end of the square.

“You mentioned knowing Bilbo Baggins,” Bard said as they strode into the house (or palace, but that may have been Cori’s size playing it up), snagging Cori’s awe-stricken attention from the breathtaking décor in the antechamber.

“Aye. A good friend and an even better hobbit.”

He grinned. “That he is. How is he? I heard that your home was attacked by the Man who threatened the dwarves.”

“He’s well. With his family’s wealth and the contribution he earned from the dwarves after Erebor was reclaimed, it’s as if nothing ever happened for him. His home is exquisite; nothing like it in all the Shire.”

“And what of your family?”

“Getting along, just as they always have. I wouldn’t have left if they still struggled, but they are hard-working and hard-headed, so very little stands in their way. It took a bit of tough love to convince them to take charity from Tho—King Thorin when he offered, but with so many little ones in our family, they were more reasonable.”

“Oh, yes. ‘Charitable’ is certainly a label I would give to the king.”

She snickered. Anyone who called Thorin on his obstinance earned her esteem; few had the balls. “I’m aware of what he did leading up to the Battle of the Five armies. Still, you of all people should see the change. You’re neighbors, after all.”

“He has been sensible, I will admit. Attributable to the prosperity of his kingdom, no doubt. The mountain became self-sufficient much sooner than he expected it to. While I can’t say I know much of hobbits, Master Baggins tarried little before taking off back home after the battle, before any of our cuts and bruises could heal. So I’m curious what would bring _this_ hobbit here while that one had little interest for what lay in the mountain.”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

One brow twitched upward, but he smiled. Apparently, she had absolutely no idea how to talk to kings. “And your family?”

“The ravens of Erebor are swift.”

“So they are. Though you’ve just answered two questions and left me with a dozen more. Perhaps I don’t know Thorin Oakenshield as well as I thought I did if he can inspire such loyalty outside of his kin.”

“You have three children, my lord. I don’t think it’s really a difficult thing for you to comprehend.”

He nodded once, a wistful smile drifting onto his face. “No, I suppose you’re right.”

After walking for an indeterminable amount of time, they entered what looked to be a private parlor. A ring of chairs circled a crackling fire, a drawing easel sat by the drape-covered window, and a plate of cheese and biscuits on a small round table caught her attention; she had not eaten as much at dinner as she intended to. Bard gestured to the chair and waited for her to hop up into it before taking his seat in one across from it. “Help yourself.”

It was very impolite to refuse food when a host offered. And then, with a half-eaten slice of cheese between her teeth, she realized she was alone with the King of Dale. She swallowed, narrowing her gaze on the oblivious man taking a sip from a wine goblet.

“Well, my lady hobbit, I must say I’m still confused.”

“About?”

His handsome expression remained unreadable. “What I do know of hobbits agrees with your reasoning behind coming to Dale at this hour, but I don’t think it stops there.”

“Then you can stay confused.”

He fought it, but in the end, the grin won over. “I don’t look to wriggle my way into your business. I am merely concerned.”

“What for?”

“Look at it from my perspective. A young woman—hobbit—who charges through my city trying to get to the mountain home of the dwarves ‘next door’ suddenly appears a week later, no provisions or money, and is preparing to sleep on the street. She also happens to be the renowned target of affection for King Thorin of Erebor, who not only seems to have taken a lover, but one not from his own race. While pleasing news to hear for an acquaintance of mine, it is quite thought-provoking.”

“And what are your conclusions, sir?” she said, turning away from the plate of cheese.

Expression still neutral, he folded his hands over his lap. “What has you running?”

She squirmed her way out of the chair unceremoniously, fixing her clothes to make up for it. “I’ve ran my whole life, my lord, trying to get away from a past that caught up with me anyway. I wish to stop before I run into a corner with no way out. Thank you for the hospitality and the offer of a room, which I’ll take for tonight, but don’t assume you can practice your assessment skills on me as if we’re in court.” She headed for the door, trying to come up with some place she could go that would give her some respite from all this scrutiny.

 _Somewhere you can_ run _to_?

Her nose twitched irritably.

“Dwarves take none too kindly to outsiders poking their noses in their business,” Bard called out to her, rising leisurely from his chair. “If I have any reason to believe that mountain is unsafe for you, I can’t in good conscience allow you to return.”

She glared back over her shoulder, still walking. “We’ve spent this whole evening talking about my courtship to King Thorin. What makes you think I’m not safe in there?”

“Because you left. Why would he let you, if he knew? Which means you didn’t want him to know. _That,_ my dear, is suspicious.”

She stopped, one hand poised to wrench the handle of the door. She thought about doing just that still, shutting down this conversation with a quick slam. But what would that accomplish? It certainly would not be enough to quell the indignation tingling in her blood. “They’re rugged and bristly, no doubt. But one thing they have going for them is unconditional respect for women, which is more than I can say for your kind, my lord. And that’s not an evaluation of your own morals; there’s just no way you can control every person you rule over. But it’s fact.”

He nodded. “A just observation. I apologize.”

“And I left a note. He knows exactly where I am.”

His head bowed. “I still extend a warning to you, even if your sex is not the issue. You are not a dwarf.”

She chuckled. “So I’ve been made aware. Good night, my lord.”

“And a pleasant night to you, lady hobbit.”

She would try for that, with the knowledge that she would be able to watch the sunrise. But comfort in the house of a man who chose to insult her before seeking a remedy for his ignorance would be a difficult task. The air was fresh, and the bright light of the full moon cast beams onto the floor of the passage she walked through during her escort to her room. This was where she would rather be at the moment.

But not with whom she preferred.

                     **************************

Morning brought clarity, as expected, and with it, shame.

Thirty-eight years old, and she dashed out of the house in a fit of unchecked rage and humiliation. She made a meal of a lover’s quarrel in front of his uninvolved friends and stomped out like a tween that could not get her way. If anybody needed to make a case for how unfit she would be as the queen, she practically handed the victory to them. Her head sat low on her chest as she rode Shadow back through the gates of Erebor, and she kept her gaze away from the guards that watched her as she went by.

It was actually reminiscent of her first “escape” from Buckland, and in a self-deprecating moment as she untacked her pony, she chuckled to herself. Despite all the valid arguments she could have presented went she left home (and she had plenty), she chose to make a statement against the rigidity of the hobbits’ social structure. A matter to address, for certain, but no one would take her seriously as she shouted it from the saddle while riding off into the sunset. What kind of a message did she send here, too?

With that said, if Thorin thought he could use her behavior as a means to escape her ire, she brought news. They had a deal, and he broke it before they could even get back together to attempt reconstruction of their relationship. And he let his ale lash out at her once again.

This late in the morning, he would be in the council room, probably preparing for a conference. As it turned out, he was caught in the middle of one; a little difficult not to notice.

A great commotion echoed down the hallway just as she approached the wide double doors, causing many crossing in front of it to pause. As she learned through convergence with her new friends, vocal disagreements were not uncommon between a king and his many counsellors, especially amongst the race of dwarves, but this was different. Even the guards standing by the door cast a few apprehensive peeks. Waiting for it to burst open and toss them into a wall, she imagined, and decided that the possibility by itself was worth sticking around for a moment. Then, above all the others, Thorin’s voice brought on a long, suspenseful pause. All that followed was incoherent murmuring.

He had that demand for silence down.

As she stood by a pillar, picking at her nails and avoiding eye contact with the suspicious guards watching the loitering hobbit, she managed to quell the urge to drag this out just a little bit longer by hiding in their bedchambers until he returned at the end of the day. She determined that she had acted like foolishly enough already, and the call for maturity made the decision for her.

The doors to the room swung open. A flood of dwarves sporting varying degrees of outrage and vexation poured through them, scattering to the nonexistent wind. Sweetly satisfying, she thought as she remained behind her pillar where her inappropriate smirk would be hidden from view. She could watch them be beat back on their arses time and time again.

After a moment, Thorin followed, the guards closing the door behind him. Equally as frustrated, he executed his long, lumbering stride that he used to expel some of his displeasure. It propelled him swiftly down the corridor. Cori leapt out quickly before he could disappear, and it was much too soon for her thoughts to collect. When he looked up, she momentarily lost the bravado she hoped to front with.

Whatever had been tumbling around in his mind a second earlier disappeared in a swirl of pipe smoke. His face blanked, and a spike of dismay drove into her chest. She loathed that look, especially when aimed at her. He took a moment to stuff a few papers into his jacket before approaching her and offering his elbow to her. She took it, mindful of the passers-by. They walked silently back to their bedchambers, looking all the picture of a couple taking a pleasant walk together. Each step to the Royal Halls was dreadful.

When they disappeared behind the heavy wooden door of the front parlor, Cori slipped away and dropped her bag on the floor by the settee. When the lock clicked, the air thickened. She lifted her chin and turned back to him.

“A note,” Thorin stated, his voice a tone away from being a growl. He stood in the middle of the room, arms folded and teeth grinding. “That is all I had for an entire night. ‘In Dale,’ as if that knowledge would reassure me.”

She pulled her shoulders back. She had nothing to grovel for. No justification for her actions either, but they were her own, and that was all that mattered. “You’re lucky you got that courtesy.”

He huffed humorlessly, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “You have no idea, do you?”

“What?”

“The danger you put yourself in.” He stepped forward, his frown taxing on her. “Word has spread of our arrangement throughout Erebor. Do you not think it would have expanded elsewhere?”

It did, obviously. It had even reached Bard.

“If that news found the wrong ears, what would that mean for you? You’re smart, just hotheaded. Think it through.”

She did not appreciate his approach. He scolded her like a child that needed to learn a lesson. “I had my sword and my bow, and you’ve seen me use both.”

“I’m not talking about vagabonds trying to steal your wares. Covetous snakes with eyes on my treasury. I would pay any ransom, but that does not guarantee you’ll come back to me whole. They know how to play. You could not defend yourself against them.”

“I lived for two years in the Shire without any supervision. How is this any different?”

“You were safer there than you are here.”

“So what was the point of showing me around if I can’t go anywhere?”

“You cannot do as you please!” He stood over her, flashing eyes bearing down with the weight of heated iron. “Not while you are here with me!”

“Propriety rules can rot, for all I care!”

“That is not a decision I get to make! I am no less a prisoner beneath it than you are. There are expectations, standards, and while I don’t agree with them, I will lose credibility if I don’t adhere. The truth, Cori, is that your place here is hanging on by a thread. The council speaks for and to the people more than I’m able to. If they think you are unfit to be at my side, they can skew public opinion in their favor, and there would be nothing I could do to save you from their wrath other than lock you up in here or bar you from the city. My word is final, but I cannot punish half the kingdom.”

She stared at his boots, mind running in circles. There had never been any reason to try to comprehend politics like this. Now she had no choice. She had fewer choices in general. “What would you have me do, then?”

A moment passed while his breathing evened out. She did not look up at him, but watched his feet draw closer to her. His fingers traced along her jaw, and she remembered that she was angry with him, moving away from his touch. “Mahal, I would preserve that charming, daring propensity in you with all my power. But in some respects, I have none.”

“So…”

He sighed. “You cannot leave Erebor by yourself. The city is yours to roam, though I would not make mischief.”

“I know I’m a child in your eyes, but don’t forget that I’m an adult where I come from.”

“Your youth isn’t to blame. You are wise beyond your years, and I wish you had not endured what you did to gain that wisdom. But you are headstrong, _khajimele,_ and you are better off browbeating in here than amongst others who would tolerate the headache less.”

“So I cannot control myself, is that it?”

His eyes slid closed, and he nodded in understanding. “You have a right to be angry about what I said.”

“I didn’t need you to tell me that. Nor did I need you to remind me of something I think about _every damn day._ ”

He reached for her shoulder, but this time, she abruptly swatted his hand away. “I do not hold a grudge.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“I was drunk, Cori. I cannot seem to function properly when I don’t control my drinks. Obviously; I ended up assigning a compulsory thief as my primary intelligence officer, as you heard.”

She bit into her cheek, promising herself more maiming if she let a smile show. “Ale brings out what you’re not saying when you’re sober. I learned that you thought I was disgusted by your presence, but you didn’t want me to leave. Bree, remember?”

“You’re right. And in that regard, ale gave me the courage to ask you to dance with me.”

She stopped, her teeth clacking together loudly.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Mahal, I was pitifully smitten with you, and I would not dare approach you without that buzz in my blood. Especially since I ran the first time I tried to give you a gift.”

She was certain, when he walked off after giving her weeds, that he would not return her feelings. “You seem to remember a lot of details from that trip.”

“Of our travels? Barely a foggy glimpse. But I studied you, involuntarily at times. I cannot remember what I discussed with Lord Barres at Ereven that day, or if we talked at all, but I remember that green dress with the gold stitching and the wine on your lips. I wanted to kiss them so badly.”

She suddenly realized that his hand gently gripped her fingers, and when she looked down at them, he immediately let go. She had not been the only oblivious one.

“I beg your forgiveness for what I said. And know that I’ve always acknowledged _my_ faults concerning our row as well. There was much that we both should have done differently.”

This time, she reached for his fingers, playing with them between both her hands. It helped her think. “Why did you keep that from me?”

“You had enough to worry about in the Shire. While I’m grateful that you care so much for me, I did not want to burden you further. But aside from that, there is another reason. It is well known that dwarves use ravens for long-distance communication. Should an enemy track my raven carrying messages to you and shoot him down, they would gain information. We have managed to keep what exactly has been happening inside these walls, and I’d rather it stay that way, should the wrong person take advantage and find a breach.”

She nodded, chewing into her lip. “That’s…fair.”

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I did break our promise, even if it was for a valid reason. And I will apologize for that as well. I haven’t exactly been earnest in this courtship.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“There will always be something that needs my attention. I cannot wait for a spare moment. I must actively make time for you, as I did in giving you that tour, though I’ll admit it was at your behest. My council and the people will just have to get over the fact that they don’t have my full attention anymore.”

 _Yes, indeed,_ she thought smugly.

“My love?”

She looked up into his tender, pleading eyes, and her anger dissipated. “Your words hurt.”

“And as much as I would like to, I cannot take them back. But I can do something to make up for it. And you can imagine me on my knees before you while I’m doing it.”

A grin squeaked past her strongholds, but her reward came as a dashing smile from him, so maybe the weakness was a good thing. “All right,” she sighed, extending her hand.

He snatched it up immediately, pulling her toward the door and out into the hallway with eagerness. He seemed genuinely excited about this. Unexpectedly, he turned to the right, which led further into the Royal Halls. She ventured back there only once, days ago when her limited knowledge of Erebor confined her to this one corridor. At the end was Kíli’s chambers, but the hall turned off to the left diagonally. It abruptly halted not far down with a wide stone door. She knew it was a door only by the keyhole sitting at waist level. It was one of those ridiculously hidden doors that dwarves liked to brag about, so well concealed that even they could not find them. Where was the practicality in that, she always wondered?

“I have dreamt of bringing you here since we first began our relationship,” he explained as he produced his key ring that clanked with an array of similar fashion.

“What is it?” she asked as he pushed into the door, taking a torch from the wall.

“You will like it, I promise.”

 _Big assumption,_ she thought. Surprises irritated her. Nevertheless, she let him retrieve her hand and followed him into the tight passage. Immediately, her skin crawled, and she gripped him even harder. It was so dark; she could not see the end, or anything beyond the torchlight. The walls were tighter than that of the halls outside it, and they had not been smoothed out, jutting out further to swallow up what little room there was. She leaned forward, nearly stumbling as it sloped downward, hoping her paltry presence would push him further. Then she considered that where they were going might be just as snug, and she focused on her breathing. “I’ll like it, huh?”

He chuckled, his voice echoing all around them. “While the way there does not feature the long dirt paths lined with grass, flowers, and cutting through undulating hills, the end will be interesting.”

Boy, she could use some of that.

Finally, they emerged from the long tunnel through an archway carved with runes and lozenge shapes, and a blast of cool air caressed Cori’s face. It was not stale. She inhaled sharply, taking in its soothing relief and simultaneously feeling a punch of sweet wonder and awe. They paused at the top of the staircase leading down into a large cavern. Stalagmites and different rock formations rose up from the floor, but Cori cared little for those. They stood in the way of the real show. Dangling on strings from the ceiling were brilliant blue glowing spots, shimmering with the slight draft coming from the tunnel. They covered the walls all the way down, even resting on some of the rocks on the floor. In the middle of the cavity sat a pool of water which reflected blue from the light above. “Thorin…”

“When my ancestors first discovered the mountain and what riches lay within it, they redirected the river to send water to the newly-built forges. Along the way, they unknowingly opened up a hole that led to this chasm, which quickly filled with water. The pressure build-up caused problems with the dam mechanism, and that’s how they discovered this place. As it had been very near to the part of the city deemed to be the royal quarters, they decided to make something special of it. So they carved out the hole…” He pointed to the small waterfall at the opposite end of the room. “…built a flood gate on the other side, and created a drain for the water to flow out of here and back to the river. These waters are only seen by the line of Durin and honored guests they personally invite.”

“What are they?” she asked.

“Worms, if you can believe it. They glow naturally like that at all hours. We have not discovered yet where they came from, as it is nothing we have ever seen in underground lakes or rivers elsewhere.”

Cori let go of his hand, treading on light feet to the bottom of the stairs. Another set led down to the water’s edge. She could not resist the urge to stick one toe in. She jerked her foot back. “It’s warm.”

“The water flows through a shaft that is flush with the forges, then it comes here. My company and I spent a few hours down here after we all recovered from the battle, and by that time the furnaces had been going for a couple weeks. It did our wounds and aches well.”

She laughed. “You mean Bilbo was down here?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. Fíli and I were bedridden for several weeks with our respective injuries, so Master Baggins had left for home by the time we could get up. Kíli was able to move after a day or two of rest, and he showed him this place just because the company felt compelled to let him in on a little secret.” He chuckled. “Kíli thought I’d be angry, since I was unconscious at the time and unable to give my consent. Bilbo deserved to see something besides rubble and cursed gold while he was here. A better memory to keep.”

“You have nothing to fear about him telling anyone, even if he was prone to spouting out secrets left and right. No one would believe him.” She gazed up at the ceiling again, trying to draw constellations in her head. “I wouldn’t.”

When he slipped his arms around her waist from behind, she leaned back against him. Then his lips pressed tiny kisses along her neck, and the tightly-wound springs in her slowly uncoiled. “To be entirely honest, above all else, I desired to know what you looked like beneath this light. You rarely disappoint, _khajimel._ ”

“This one of those rare times?” She turned around to grin at him over her shoulder. A swift, sharp pinch to her arse pulled a yelp from her, and she elbowed him in the ribs. It did nothing, of course, so she just pulled away and glared at him.

Then she was caught by the ripples of the water playing across his face, the blue light bringing out the roundness of his cheeks as he smirked at her. “A more exquisite sight I have never seen.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, because she had been thinking the exact same thing. She turned away and tip-toed back to the blue swirls lapping calmly against the rock. Very rarely had she seen still water in Buckland; growing up, she knew nothing but the dull roar of the Brandywine and splashing of fish as the fishermen reeled them in. It did very little to calm her fears of the murky depths. Here, however, where the water was so clear that she could see the bottom, there was no apprehension. The waterfall barely disturbed it, and the warmth crept up into the air and brushed against her exposed skin. She wanted to get in. “Thorin, can we—” Her mouth clamped shut.

The dwarf had completely removed his embellishing outer attire, setting it aside on a stone near the edge of the water. He was in the act of removing his tunic, bearing his back and the beautiful ink etched into it. The new length of his hair was obvious. Her breath hitched when he cast a sultry look over his shoulder. “I have had a taxing day in court, and I feel a good soak would do well to fend off nightmares. Will you be joining me?”

Nothing would stop her—not even the mountain crumbling down on top of them—from ravishing the dwarf until he was chanting her name to the worms.

She reached for the buttons on the front of her vest, pulling each one out slowly all the way down to her waist. He paused, his tunic bunched in his grip. His eyes snapped to the movement of her small hands, watching her slip out of her vest and skirt. Her under tunic remained, though it provided little cover. She stepped out of her skirt and approached him, her feet soundless against the trickling of the water. Both hands rose up to skim over the ridges of his stomach, less prominent than they had been before but still just as firm. They descended to tug at the laces of his breeches, sending them down until gravity took them to his ankles. She gingerly stroked his heavy length, grinning when he took in a deep breath. “I want recompense for your harsh words yesterday.”

Slowly, purposefully, he pulled her tunic up and over her head, casting it back to rest on the pile of clothing she left behind. “What would you like?”

“Get in the water.”

His eyes darkened against the firmness of her voice, and he obliged.

Cori enjoyed a power rush like no other when the king of Erebor, taller and broader than many of his kind, obeyed her word without hesitation. Did he like relinquishing control since he spent so much time in charge? She was all too happy to be dishing out orders. It stoked the heat in her belly.

She lowered herself onto the edge of the rock, feet and legs dangling in the water. Only slightly cooler than bath water, it cured the chills from the cavern. Thorin’s gaze accomplished that in a flash. He stood up to his waist, dark hair spread across his shoulders in soft waves. He watched her, breathing labored and lips wet, awaiting her next move. She spoke no words, only parted her knees and leaned back on her hands just a little. He lurched forward, wading until he stood in between her legs. His face was only an inch or two below hers. He reached up to peck her lips softly, pressed a kiss to her collar bone, mouthed at a breast firmly, then knelt. Her legs lay on his shoulders, his hands caressing them and cooling her skin from the water. Finally, after casting a simply sinful look at her face, he dove into her curls.

She gasped, her head falling back and her legs involuntarily widening. It had only been one day of separation, but the first after several days of repeated pleasures throughout the night. She craved him as she craved his presence beside her beneath the blankets. As he drew his tongue over her folds, she made sure he knew just how much she had missed him.

He paid his dues. Lapping and sucking at her sensitive skin, he made her forget for a moment why she had ever been angry with him. She listened to the waves rolling through her blood and her sighs echoing off the cavern walls. He was far too good; he knew exactly how to make sure she did not last long. She had no strength to slow him. Her release crashed into her, hot and abrupt, and when he did not let up, she shoved him back with her foot until he nearly stumbled into the water. A salacious grin pulled at his glistening beard, and he dipped down to wash his face. She glared, trying to put disdain in her eyes. They probably just reflected the immense pleasure wracking her body, the traitors. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“I am not the one with the nerve.” He approached her again, tentatively, waiting for the snap that would signal him to keep his distance. As her body softened and the drowsiness relaxed her, however, she opened her arms and guided him against her. He wound around her, pressing the side of his head to her chest as she threaded her fingers through his hair. “I am sorry.”

She hummed, laying a kiss onto his forehead. Her heart sang with the familiar bliss, but even without it, she just had no room for contempt toward him there. “I forgive you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the worms? Glowworms, native to New Zealand. Look them up if you don't know what they are. They're pretty.  
> Things are stable again, but for how long? Hm. Methinks this is a little more complicated than they anticipated. No fluffy, happily ever after crap here (unfortunately I apologize but that's to come later I promise because by my life Thorin will get his happy ending).  
> Thank you all for the lovely comments! It absolutely brightens my day when I get to talk with you guys, and I definitely need a little brightening in my life right now. <3


	10. On Her Own Furry Feet

“Mahal, there is no one better for my domineering brother than this mischievous little lass and her unbridled impetuosity.”

The pop of an apple interrupted Dís’s overjoyed chuckling, and Cori stared at the ground next to the woman’s desk as she reflected on the words just used to describe her. The meaning of one of them left her reeling a bit, but context gave her a push in a credible direction. This dwarrowdam was nonchalantly diligent when tagging people; she had a way of making someone consider all of their life choices up until that point. “Maybe I’ve taken it too far.”

“Oh, nonsense. He needs it. The old oaf’s getting too comfortable.” Dís continued to shuffle papers around, and Cori stared nervously at the amount of work a _princess_ was responsible for. “The variety in his life that exile provided is no longer there, and he’s been steadily becoming bored. A good jolt to his heart and priorities won’t hurt him.”

“Yeah, too late for that.”

“Ah, yes. I’m good friends with Kina, Oín’s latest apprentice, and she told me you had come to the healing rooms searching for willow on Thorin’s behalf. Hemicrania?”

Cori nodded.

“He has suffered those since our father’s disappearance, when he officially took the title of king. He does little to help himself when it happens, and it’s only made them worse. That may change now. Don’t think you’re the cause when you might just be the distraction he needs to improve.”

When Thorin returned after an emergency meeting the night before, he had been suffering for some time already. Cori led him to bed where he lay until morning, not even bothering with supper. After forcing some willow bark tea down his throat, she spent most of the evening with his head in her lap, rubbing her thumbs into his temples and combing out his hair with her fingers. With the worst passed, he confessed that the soak in the warm water had been a preventative measure against the ailment, but it had helped little. The episodes usually lasted longer without her intervention.

“What was the meeting about last night?” she asked, tossing away the remnants of her apple. “I didn’t dare ask. Not a beneficial topic for recovery, I reckoned.”

Dís rolled her eyes. “Rumors concerning a plot by one of the members of the court to forge a letter from the king signing over a larger amount of silver to a creditor in the Iron Hills than we owe. It is the first we’ve heard of such a thing. Somebody convinced the rest of the council that they had enough evidence to condemn, so they called in Thorin even after it was made clear he had retired for the night. As it turns out, the evidence itself was forged. Thorin had to go around in circles with the accuser for about two hours before it was finally decided that the evidence wouldn’t stand.”

Had they truly nothing better to do? They attempted so arduously to make Thorin their puppet, and it was only by the strength of his mind that they had not succeeded. He was the damn king! He should have the freedom to dismiss them all. “Why would the council take it so seriously if Thorin could call fraudulence in two hours?”

Dís pointed at her. “Why, indeed? See, you have some court instincts.”

Cori shrugged. “I’ve got a farmer’s education, and I don’t think you would even need that to come to that conclusion. Something’s going on.”

“He’s launched a full investigation on them that so far has proved unproductive. You would think, after the fifth time, we’d have something on whoever might be behind this.”

“He thinks they might be behind the attacks?”

“Nobody else has come forward and showed such stalwart opposition. There are a few exceptions, but right now, they make the most sense. This conflict with them did not start in Erebor; it’s been going on for years.”

The court could get away with it to a degree. Anybody else would be treading eggshells. And while she had met them but once, it was plenty of time for an observation to bear fruit. They were a most meddlesome and shrewd bunch, and Cori knew something about both types. Thorin’s diplomatic experience gave him credence, and one did not need to know the complexities of dwarven law to see conflict. “I think their resistance is proof enough that they should be taken out.”

“That is true, but right now, the people think the attacks are a completely separate issue. They would lose trust and assurance if they knew that their government was not united while something like this was happening. Thorin needs to keep up pretenses until we can acquire adequate evidence.”

This sounded oddly and uncomfortably familiar. “You may want to know that they would be gone by morning if I had the final say.”

Dís laughed. “Is that a warning? You are aware that dwarves rarely think things through when it comes to politics, right? You’d fit right in.”

“You’re encouraging me to make a bad decision because it’s favorable. I knew there was something about you I liked.”

“Believe me, I want to function solely on spite sometimes, and that includes bringing down the scorn of a victimized hobbit onto everyone I strongly suspect is causing trouble.”

“Give me a wage, and I’m at your service. Speaking of which, that’s exactly what I need.”

The dam, having sat back with her spectacles on and a new piece of parchment resting in her hands, glanced up toward the earnest girl’s face. “A wage?”

“Well, a way to get one.”

Dís set her glasses aside. “Cori, you are currently residing with the king of one of the wealthiest cities in Middle-earth. You may be lacking in space to wander to your heart’s content, but you have absolutely no need for money. Why would you ever consider it?”

Cori had been prepared for that response. It may even continue to be her main obstacle afterward. “I’m not after the money. I’m perfectly aware that I don’t need it, and I would be more than happy to not be paid and let the money go toward something more useful. But I’m about to start knocking my head into a wall.”

Dís lifted an eyebrow. “You have the choice for a life of leisure that so many people long for, and you want to ply a craft?”

She huffed. The last thing she wanted was for this to come across in such a way. If only she had Thorin’s way with words. “I’m very grateful to your family for taking me into your home the way you have. But I can’t bounce around the same three hobbies all the time. Shooting arrows into a target, reading ink on a page, and walking around the city accomplish nothing but killing time. I can’t do that.”

“You need a productive outlet.”

“If I don’t do something to further the prosperity of Erebor, how will I ever earn the respect of the people?”

Dís grinned. “Ah, so that’s what this is about.”

She shrugged. “Partially.” She gripped a clump of her curls. “I hate it, though.”

“What?”

“Having to find ways for people to like me. Usually, I just give them the boot if they can’t suffer me just a little.”

“Clearly.” The dwarf looked on her extremely fondly, if Cori had a description for that expression. “All right. What can you do?”

Planting things. Unless she suddenly gained some Yavanna-gifted ability to bring life out of the stone, that may be a challenge. And how many dwarves would be impressed with her flowers and vegetables? But maybe… “Where do the healers get their herbs and medicines?”

“One of few exports from the Woodland Realm that gained approval from the council, and that was only after one of their wives took sick when stock was low. Oín grows some of the more common things in his work space, and I do believe his home as well.”

“Is there nowhere to put a communal garden of sorts? Maybe just outside the gates? If we have a space to grow more things, we don’t have to import all the time.”

“It’s never been approached before. We’ve never had to do so. It was the Iron Hills before Smaug, and Dáin’s raised taxes on such things due to a persistent drought still going from last year. That was actually why he was here the other week; Thorin disagreed with the new plan, so that’s why he up and left so suddenly. Thranduil’s only slightly better. In the Blue Mountains, we actually imported from the Shire. If we remind people who lived there how good the hobbits do such things, you might earn a following with that idea.”

Cori bobbed her head vigorously. Her hands itched to dig in the dirt again. Maybe she would even have time to plant some late summer sprouts. “But that still doesn’t help me at the moment.”

“You traded furs, didn’t you? Thorin showed me the pelt you sent him. Stunning work. We have enough furriers in the mountain, but you could always start your own seamstress pursuit. Never enough of those to go around.”

“I liked the hunting part.”

Dís pursed her lips tightly. “I implore you to think carefully about any trade that would take you out of the mountain so often.”

“And why’s that?” she deadpanned, fully prepared for an iteration of what Thorin told her.

“As consort to the king, you will have duties here. You can’t be absent as long as it would take to gather furs worth some profit.”

“‘Mistress,’ I think, is a more fitting title at the moment.”

“You are courting, and Thorin would not do so if he did not anticipate the possibility of marriage. He’s never given his time over to anyone in this way before, and at his age, he would not play around. That leaves the question of what _your_ intentions are.”

Cori folded her arms. Dís had every right to be skeptical, as close as the two siblings were to each other. But the assumption was still unappreciated. “I love him, more than I ever thought I could feel for anyone.”

A tiny smile quivered within the dam’s beard. “Then do not make a habit of driving him mad with worry. I joked before about your leaving the mountain the other night, but it would be cruel to put him through that instead of choosing something that could be accomplished at home. He is a dwarf, and though he tolerates your willfulness as he should, he will remain fiercely protective of you no matter what. Spending so much time apart, on top of all the unavoidable political matters that will separate you two, will not be good for your relationship. Trust me.”

Cori nodded. It was purely out of understanding and not necessarily cooperativeness. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him in any way. But hunting had been the most enjoyable part of her life on the road. The success after tracking an animal for hours, the fresh meat to warm her belly acquired and prepared by her own hands, and the satisfaction of being paid for her hard work. It was a struggle at times, but it was an accomplishment that she would always have. She would have to give it up to the benefit of her…husband. She would relinquish her freedom to him.

She considered doing what she fought so hard against her family about for years. For love.

“Cori.” She jerked, realizing with pink cheeks that she had been glaring at the table top for too long. Dís watched her with the small grin still there, no sign of judgment in her eyes. “Make your decision soon. You have his full devotion, but he does not have any room in his life to be wasting time.”

Cori ground her teeth and glared. “Don’t worry. I can’t sit idle with no aim for very long, remember?”

“No need to be angry.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand. The honesty’s welcome. I can’t stand it when people beat around the bush. No greater waste of time than taking the long way to say something. But don’t forget that I’m _here,_ Dís, and not with my family a thousand miles away. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yes, it does. It’s telling. But it’s clear you came with false expectations.”

“I had none at all. I just wanted to see his face again.”

“And now that you have?”

She had so much peace in her heart that she waited for the inevitable vengeful maniac that would take it all away. “I’m going to have to work a little bit, and if there’s anything I can do, it’s work.”

Dís nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I don’t doubt it.”

Most likely, the dam thought Cori just consented to accept her life in the usual way anyone in her position would. But a Houndberry would not be labeled a quitter. She was industrious. Paths existed if one committed themselves to finding them, and she could blaze a winning trail. She adapted where others would stumble, and improvised where they would give up. How could she gain happiness if she had to sacrifice something? Sounded counter-productive.

Step one: learn the importance of punctuality that really did not exist in Buckland (despite being a pivotal factor of respectful behavior in the Shire). Her visit with Dís served to bide her time until her appointment with Ori in the library. He was supposed to give her some tips on books she could peruse through to begin her long endeavor of learning Erebor’s extensive and presumably boring history; she wanted to surprise Thorin with some trivia at the end of it all. She lost track of the hour, and now she felt bad because he probably had more useful things to do with his time than tend to her. So, after gently shutting Dís’s door, she burst into a fast walk that would not seem suspicious to anybody walking along at that time.

Apparently, some meeting had just adjourned since the suspended pathway at the top of the staircase leading up from the government offices was flooded with strict-looking politicians. Her presence plummeted the mood dramatically, and even more so when she attempted to dash in between any gaps she could fit through, and she fought to keep a straight face.

She had one foot on the top stair of the level with the library when a voice called out her name from down below. She attempted to twist around, quickly jumping out of the way when she realized she stood right in everybody’s path, and suddenly an arm curled around her back and pushed her on with the stream. Whiskers brushed her ear. “Where are you headed to?”

Iren. “The library.”

“I will see you there.” She had a great deal of things to say about his arm wrapped around her, and when she balked to begin her lecture about personal space, he urged her onward. “You are unaware of your shadow, aren’t you?”

A cold shiver passed through her limbs and up her spine. “Apparently so.”

“He has hesitated now. Look.”

She craned her neck to see around the meaty hand cupping her shoulder, ready to recite her argument of how all dwarves looked the same with their “beard breastplates” and that it would be entirely impossible for her to isolate one dwarf when they all stared at her with identical disdain and loathing. But _he_ was too obvious to overlook, and she wanted to stop and give him applause for his absolutely exemplary stealth. He was a leaner dwarf than most, and his bushy beard nearly covered his entire visage. While everyone else carried on down the hall, he indeed had paused in his path to eye her and her companion. Of course, with the overgrowth on his face, his expression was indiscernible. He turned quickly and followed the last dwarf from the mob, as if he had not just skewered and diced her with his scowl.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“You shouldn’t be. Did you think that minds would change because the court did not condemn you? Someone needs only to get you alone, make it look like an accident, and the problem would be solved with no one for the king to prosecute.”

She gritted her teeth. She had been promised that her position with the royals would keep her out of danger within the mountain. They had done so to subdue her worrying, she was sure. So much for Thorin’s assurance about not considering her a child. But Iren was right: she had fallen for it.

They walked together all the way to the library entrance. He kept an eye on the cavernous hall in front of it for a moment before finally stepping away from her. “Are you meeting someone here?”

She nodded. “They’re already in there.”

“I would recommend an escort back to your chambers.”

“Yeah, I was going to inquire about that.”

He nodded, turning around to walk away, and Cori took a moment to shake out of her stupor.

“What was that for?”

He stopped and looked back at her, grinning faintly. “I told you already. I do not tolerate injustice. You don’t deserve to be punished for bringing happiness to the king.”

“I don’t imagine you actually approve.”

“Doesn’t matter whether I do or not. King Thorin has sacrificed much on behalf of Durin’s folk. Why should he be denied something that he wants for himself for once, even if it makes no sense to the rest of us?” He winked and strode back the way they had come. “Use those bush instincts, Miss Houndberry. You’re going to need them in here.”

Cori stared after him, hardly remembering a time she was _this_ perplexed by someone. Of all the things that peeved her in the world, false chumminess sat very close to the top of her list. It was obvious after witnessing it through the thousands of business exchanges she had gone through in her life. Humans were the worst for it, but dwarves came in a closer second. So unnecessary. And yet, Iren showed nothing of the sort. He had no intentions of getting to know her, just like when they traveled to Erebor together. So why get her out of tight spots?

Favor from the king. What else could a politician want? But if it saved her neck, she had very little to complain about.

The library buzzed with activity by late afternoon, after she had been there for a few hours. Cori was ready to leave anyway. She had put Ori through his rounds, tasking him with finding her the easiest volumes of dwarven history that she could comprehend. Couple that with finding something that was in Westron, and he actually had to consult the directory for his own library.

“It’s my job,” he laughed nervously when she apologized. “Besides, how could a little refresher do any harm?”

At least she had put in a little bit of an effort not to make a nuisance of herself throughout the whole process. He seemed appreciative of her patience, and she would gladly pay him back for his, Mahal bless him. She doubted he would take any money from Thorin, though; the lad was the perfect picture of reverence in the king’s presence, and he no doubt felt the same inspiration that so many other young dwarves did when looking upon Thorin Oakenshield. Frankly, Cori had joined them.

She briefly entertained what it would be like to receive such respect, then remembered that a little hobbit had no business seeking such things. _So what are you doing here, dallying with a king_? If she only knew what had possessed her.

She would never assume that she deserved any esteem that a warrior worked his entire life to earn, but would it kill anybody to be polite? She managed to do it, even when being in a dwarf’s presence brought out a compelling desire in her to hiss like a cat. Aggression was a little extreme, especially when any one of them could pin her down without so much as a muscle flex.

As she stood outside, waiting for Ori to return from a quick run back into his office so he could walk with her, she noticed movement at the other end of the hall. It was the same dwarf that had followed her and Iren, and he made no move to look at her, if he even realized she was there. She looked back into the library, seeing no sign of her companion, so she decided to find out what misfortune he had had in store for her.

Once he was down the stairs and out of sight, she trotted after him. She pushed aside the unease; he had been hanging around along her path back up to the royal chambers, most likely, so he had not considered his plan foiled just yet. Assuredly, he would not have given up so easily anyway. As simple a target as she presented? He would have no excuse for failure. That was why she would love to give him a lecture on assumptions through appearances only. Oh, and she just so happened to have her sword on her.

He had a destination, and a limited amount of time to get there, apparently. To ensure that she did not lose him around any abrupt corners in this place, Cori had to jog. She, however, made no sound even with boots on, as opposed to the pounding of his long, heavy stride. He did not even look back once. She grinned. _Still got it._

She hesitated when he started down on a staircase toward a part of the city she had yet to visit. Thorin pointed it out on their tour: it led down to an inactive mine, the residences of those who worked in the main functioning ones, and the spaces of work for those who gathered and sorted what was collected from the rock. At the moment, that particular entrance was closed off due to some instability in the supports deep in the mines. Experts in that field determined a collapse was inevitable and had only to wait for an earthquake to bring the ceiling down. It was of no danger to the residences, as they were far removed from the entrance. However, she anticipated losing her way rather than being buried in the rubble of a mine failure.

_Damn this place. I hate it._

The staircase was large. Surely there were not too many deviations from the main corridor. And she always managed to find her way on the surface. Why would beneath it be any different, besides the fact that she could barely see a foot in front of her a good bit of the time? She had to take the initiative to help herself at some point. Relying on everybody else would do her no favors in the long run. What did it do now but annoy her and everyone else?

The residences were obvious from as far up as the middle of the stairs; they were right across the wide hall in front of it. She did not, however, expect the dwarf to turn away from them, choosing rather to stride to the left as if the tails of his coat were aflame. A quick glance to the right, and she confirmed it led to a dead end. So he was headed for the mine entrance. Why on this wide green earth would he be going that way? Fearing that a higher-up official would report him for suspicious behavior toward her, so he would rather brave being crushed to death than be found? That would be the least of his concerns, if she managed to get her hands on him.

Since she had to pause when he took a cautionary sweep behind him, and with the distance she already put between them, he did indeed disappear around a wall before she even completely descended the stairs. As soon as she hit the bottom, she broke into a sprint, grasping her sword to steady it against her leg and ready herself to draw it when the time came to pin him against a wall and hold it to his throat. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a quick flash of black. She whirled around without hesitation, positioning her blade in a defense stance just as another sword swung downward toward her. The steel scraped together with a loud, piercing shriek, and she jumped back. Her eyes met a contemptuous glare attached to the sword that had nearly sliced her in half.

“What brings you down here, _sharbrugn_?” the grey-bearded dwarf inquired, unfazed by her retaliation. If anything, he cast an amused glimpse at her weapon, despite what it had just done. “A fine place to meet someone, isn’t it?”

“If this is considered good hospitality down here, then I reckon so. Don’t mind if I stay awhile?”

He chuckled, inclining his head. “Most certainly. In fact, I don’t think you’ll be leaving for some time. At least not on your own two legs. So get comfortable.”

“Really? In that case, I’ll be needing your legs then. Would you like a moment to say goodbye to them?”

His laugh turned into a snarl. “A humorous one, aren’t you? You’re out of luck. I’m short on patience for this banter.”

_Haven’t run out of luck just yet._

They lunged simultaneously, their weapons brandished to thrust right through the other. Just as they took a step, however, a small blade stuck into the side of the dwarf’s neck, halting his progress. A garbled groan escaped him, and he stared up at the wall in shock. Cori did not stop in time, and she followed through with her attack, sending her sword right into his gut. Instinctively, she looked to the side; the dwarven custom of looking their opponent in the eye as they died had never been for her. Killing never settled well in her stomach, and she clung onto the fact that her blow had not been the fatal one in this instance. She withdrew and took in a deep breath as the doubly-pierced body dropped to the stone with a thud. The blood on her sword shimmered in the faint torchlight, and her spine tingled.

“Decent thrust.”

She jerked to attention at the familiar voice. The mischievous smirk of Nori appeared out of the shadows.

He held her gaze as he wiped off his knife. “Looks like Dwalin’s work in it. Never been able to determine how fighting could be personalized, but he’s got that brutality I ain’t seen in anyone else. You’re a mite prettier to look at when you do it, though.”

She crooked her eyebrow. “Did you follow me down here?”

He finished up with his blade and stuffed it into his shirt. Fíli was not the only one who stashed blades in places that would eventually end with him stuck like a pincushion. He held out his hand toward her sword; tending to one’s own weapon after a kill was a crucial tradition in dwarven warfare, but he rightly assumed she could give a rat’s arse about those ridiculous rituals of theirs. “Imagine my surprise when, as I’m about to pay my brother a kindly visit, I notice a little hobbit scamper off after a shady-lookin’ character heading into the bowels of the city. Not just any hobbit, oh no, but the one who just so happens to have the King Under the Mountain wrapped around her little finger. You can sympathize with the dilemma I was left with.”

She took her blade back when he was done, shoving it back into its sheath. “To follow orders or to not. Oh, yes. Quite a predicament.”

He chuckled. “You’re a bright one there. But no. Purely coincidental that I happened along just as you were about to dig yourself a hole. Though, I don’t suppose you’re unaware of the charge that Thorin’s put on us all to look out for you when he’s not hoverin’ over you.”

“I didn’t hear about the official statement, but the possibility hadn’t escaped me.” Sounded exactly like him, actually, to employ his companions with such a task. She felt sorry for them. But then again, they seemed a loyal bunch to any they accepted into their fold on their own, so she might be lucky to have their devotion even if Thorin said nothing. Dwarves made for decent allies when in a tight spot.

“In that case, if my brother’s laid out on the floor after having a coronary, I’m blaming you.”

She snorted. Right. Poor Ori was probably going over all the ways Thorin would take his head when he realized the young dwarf had lost her after turning his back for only a moment when she was under his care. Thorin knew it was an impossible feat, so he probably did not expect much from them. Something along the lines of what Nori had just done now: intervene after she had already gotten things started.

“So who were you tailing?”

“Somebody that followed me earlier, acting all shady-like, as you guessed. I felt the need to inquire about my popularity, in case it was an admirer.”

He grimaced. “I’d be offended if I attracted admirers that looked like that.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“Well, _he_ never suspected a thing. He certainly would have made a few more glances around his shoulder if he felt he had any reason to. This fella happened along from the apartments over there just as you turned your back to it.” He nudged the prone body with the toe of his boot, mustache braids twitching with a grimace.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. As a matter of fact, I was just about to make a comment on what kind of good that stealth could do for the mountain. Bu-ut, I don’t suppose my encouragement of such a thing would be welcome amongst certain… _ahem_ , admirers of yours.”

“No, it wouldn’t. But please, don’t let that stop you.”

He grinned with a shake of his head. “Are all hobbit lasses so headstrong?”

“No, just the ones that come out of Buckland. And especially the ones that actually _leave._ ”

“Bilbo hadn’t a lick of skill for anything but cooking and singing when he hopped along with us on those two giant, hairy feet of his. But they came in handy in the end; seemed to take on a mind of their own when he needed to sneak around.”

“It’s an innate hobbit thing, that light step. We have absolutely no use for it, though we think it might have kept our ancestors alive. We’ve never been inclined toward the sword, obviously.”

“Well, _you_ , on the other hand, know what you’re doing with it. Same with the blade. And a bow? I don’t suppose Thorin meant anything about adding you to the guard, but he can’t deny that he was onto something.” He glanced down at the dwarf still bleeding out on the floor. “I’ll tuck him away somewhere that a kid won’t stumble on him and send somebody down for him later.” He grasped the dwarf by the lapels and dragged him behind a pillar off to the side. The blood stain would dry and look like a mead spill later. Cori followed, jaw clenched against the coppery smell.

“You’re in charge of the investigations on Thorin’s council, aren’t you?”

When he emerged from behind the pillar, he winked at her. “I knew you were a smart one. He’s having a hard time trusting anybody at the moment, but I swore my oath before we won the mountain. That counts for something, I guess.”

“Found anything?”

“So far, they’re just looking like greedy politicians, though that’s the kind that would do something like this. Nothing tangible that I can link to them. Although, there was one thing I found on Jetta, lady that always wears the gold broche on the left side of her dress and a single braid down the right. Just a questionable payment to a few guards on the night of one of the attacks about a year ago. But those guards were on duty as they should have been, so I can’t tie it together.”

“Maybe Thorin’s mistaken?”

He shrugged. “He’s acknowledged that he might be, but his gut’s telling him not to trust them completely, and that’s the first thing I listen to. I’m not letting up. So far, though, it’s looking like we’re going to have to wait for another assassination attempt before we can get anything. He’s pretty thrilled about being used as bait.”

Cori was not.

He stared off at the doorway that her stalker disappeared through. “I’ve seen his face before. Don’t know his name, but I haven’t been able to trace him to any apartment in the city. That might be where he’s camping out.”

Did she just come moments away from attacking an innocent homeless man? Great. As if she needed more guilt.

“Don’t worry.” Nori caught her expression. “I think he’s into a few nefarious things. Now that we know where he’s at, we’ll probably come back down tomorrow and evict him. I’d say he’ll have much better living conditions in a cell than in a mine that needs nothing but a sneeze to instigate a collapse.”

“Could I help?”

One peculiarly braided eyebrow lifted, and she winced.

“I mean, with the investigation. I know dwarves are lacking in stealth, and I could be another pair of eyes and hands to slip in somewhere that no one else could.”

She expected him to request a formal application of some kind, or a few days to consider it. What she did _not_ expect was for him to immediately stick out his hand with a grin and shake hers vigorously. “You got it, Miss Hobbit. Can’t have too many good resources, I say. And I don’t think anyone has much more motivation to look after His Majesty than the future Her Majesty herself.”

She smiled nonetheless. “It’s a deal, then.”

When he withdrew his hand, he pursed his lips, and she suddenly grew nervous. “I wouldn’t recommend telling him.”

Her first instinct was to agree. Then she remembered what happened the other day. “I’m going to.”

His eyes widened. “You sure?”

“I won’t keep things from him. Besides, he knows fully well that he can’t stop me from doing something that I want to do, no matter how much he disapproves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharbrugn: bald chin
> 
> I feel like this story isn't as plot driven as the first one, which is kinda making me feel like it's not progressing. Maybe it's because I'm looking at the bigger picture, but it would be different from someone who's never read it and doesn't know where I'm taking this. It'll eventually get going somewhere, but I had stuff happening all over the place before. Thoughts?
> 
> We've just passed 1000 hits on this story, which is always an accomplishment that I acknowledge. Thank you to all who have read this, given kudos, and especially those I get to talk with. <3


	11. Traitors in the Dark

“No.”

Cori paused, her thoughts abruptly halting momentarily. She expected him to at least hear her proposal. The interruption caught her off guard. “Excuse you. I was still talking.”

“You don’t have to finish.” Thorin rose from his desk and strode toward one of the bookshelves along the wall, not even offering her a brief glimpse. He seemed to lose all interest in her even after he stared at her for a full five minutes from the moment she walked in. One word, or name rather, incited it.

“I. Was. Talking.”

He lifted his hands away from the large volume he had pulled from the top shelf, holding them out next to his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Nori thinks I can make a dent in the investigations for you, or he wouldn’t have let me on board right on the spot. And you said it yourself at the party. I would be a good addition to the guard. Ale seems to bring a lot of the truth out of you, so the way I see it, you already back my endeavors here.”

“Acknowledgement of your skills does not mean I actually _want_ you out there. I did not _want_ you to go into Annúminas, but my choices were limited. Here, there are plenty with such talents to carry that responsibility.”

“Aren’t you insulting me by insisting that I not take up arms in your defense?”

“Now you’ll play by dwarf rules?”

“I also happen to take offense in your lack of trust in me.”

“Cori, listen to me.” He turned to face her, leaning against the shelf he previously leant over. “I fully trust Nori to fulfill the position I gave him, but I’m aware that he uses it for his own personal gains. He was a swindler before, and that has clearly become an addiction. He is certainly not a role model that I would want the youth of this city to follow, which is why his involvement in internal affairs is kept confidential. He may unintentionally tangle you up in his business, and that will not do well for your reputation, especially in its current state. It’ll certainly undermine your aspirations.”

“You seem to think I haven’t participated in such things,” she murmured quietly, hoping he did not hear so she could pretend she never told him while also laying claim to a confession if she ever needed leverage in the future. His big ears were good for something, though.

He stopped in his path toward his desk, wide eyes locked onto her. “You have?”

“You should know about desperation against starving.”

“But I never stole anything.” His gaze suddenly drifted up and down the length of her body, searching for something. “I know you less than I thought I did.”

“Even less than that.” She watched the emotions crawl across his face in a swift, unnerving manner, knowing she did the right thing while also cursing the self-condemnation. Her heart squeezed when, while it was not there now, she imagined seeing regret amidst that oscillating anxiety.

After a few seconds spent staring at the floor, he abruptly shook his head and looked back at her. “And that is why we are courting. To rid ourselves of those gaps.”

He had more confidence in them than she did, judging by the firm set of his jaw and determined eyes.

“We’ve made progress, if you couldn’t tell. I chose to inform you of my decision, so you should be grateful of that, and tell me that I’m ambitious for seeking out a place to use my talents for the good of your people.”

“I would use audacious.” He sat down heavily in his chair, a long breath rushing from his nose. When he patted his leg, she did not hesitate. He wrapped his arm around her back as she settled on his lap, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her head. “You do not make things easy, darling.”

She wanted to bite back; it was reminiscent of the banter they shared on the quest. She never had so much fun squabbling, even with her siblings. Was that normal, to want to perpetuate conflict like that? Their slaps had been light, playful. Things balanced on a finer edge now. They were not at a proper state to so freely heckle each other. She missed that immensely.

She came to Erebor, and she still missed the quest.

“Things would be easier if you didn’t worry so much,” she murmured.

“I will worry because you are you, and I love _you._ ”

She leaned forward, tentatively brushing her lips over his. The point of his long nose pressed into her cheek, and she grinned. Then she kissed him harder, and he relaxed beneath her touch. She wanted to keep it tame. Very rarely did moments like this refrain from the heavy and fervent nature of their coupling; they were still in the reunion stage with two years to make up for. She wanted his passion, but so much could be said in the casual silence they shared while first forming this connection. She just wanted to _be_ with him.

He obliged her when she prevented him from falling into the assertive approach he applied routinely, laying his hands on her waist and gently rolling his thumbs into her skin. When he pulled back, he smiled wistfully. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

She withdrew from her daze slowly. He was an excellent kisser. Good enough to make her lose sight of her objectives. “What?”

“If Nori praised you for your skills, he witnessed them. What’d you do?”

She tried to turn the conversation elsewhere before it reached this point. Clever dwarf. “Tailed someone.”

“Why?”

She tried to bite her tongue. But she castigated him for keeping things to himself not three days ago. “They tailed me.”

He sighed, tucking her closer into his side. “And here I thought dwarves would have some honor and go after me directly.” When he looked up at her, his face was vulnerable and imploring. “May I request that somebody be with you wherever you go from now on?”

“Absolutely. It’ll be denied.”

He nodded. “Thought so.” Warm lips brushed across the shell of her ear. “You shouldn’t retaliate on your own.”

“I take matters into my own hands. I don’t need permission from anybody to deal with my business.”

“It is just as much _my_ business as it is yours. Anything that pertains to you is _my_ business. I cannot prohibit you from doing what you will, but I can order Nori to formally restrict your participation.”

“Shite.”

His finger and thumb gently gripped her chin. “I will take you pouting and unhappy over dead, _amrâlimê._ What I do to ensure your safety does not need to be conducive to your satisfaction. Am I understood?”

Her nose quivered with a sneer, and she hoped he saw it. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

A faint nip to her neck stung only a little. “Enough. Hold yourself decorously, or no one will take you seriously.”

“I’m not uncouth, Thorin.” She pried his hands off her waist and got up. “But neither am I subservient.”

“I do not require that,” he called after her.

“I’m not convinced.” She did not wait to listen to his argument. Instead, she made for the training yard, hoping there was somebody she could attempt to lay flat out in there.

Her victim for the night was a straw-filled dummy that already dangled off its post. It looked nothing like the dwarf figure it was supposed to resemble when she finally dropped into a chair from exhaustion after a good two hours of slicing uninterrupted. She sat across from it and panted, staring into the two black coals that took the place of eyes. Her anger flared again. Where was the satisfaction of flaying something that would not fight back? There was no rush of mortality. No thrill of the game of pretending as if that blade had an enemy attached to it. Just destroying a toy, like a young pup.

Her arms quivered when she tried to return her sword to its sheath. She stumbled when she hauled herself to her feet. Her muscles were completed diminished, and she suddenly felt a rush of dread. Staying strong meant longevity. If she had any hope of coping here, she needed that fortitude.

Everything about this place augmented her survivor’s instincts, and she was drained. She needed to take safeguarding matters into her own hands again, or she would slowly become one of the most infuriating creatures in this world that gave all a wary eye: a dwarf.

                 ******************

Nori was most pleased when she showed up to his administrative quarters the next day. “I thought I read you right. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were a rock in a river and not a stick.”

“You won’t catch me in a river, that’s for sure, no matter what I am.”

He shrugged. “Everyone has their limitations.” After he slapped down a piece of paper onto a tabletop, he skirted around it and slung an arm over her shoulders. “Which is an invitation, by the way, should you need one today.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re lucky mine don’t run too short.”

“Thorin already visited you?”

“I swore that I would limit your involvement. I’ve followed my orders by offering you a way out whenever you want.”

She smirked. “Does the title of king even carry any weight around here?” Things were starting to sound an awful lot like the Shire.

“To the majority of the people in this mountain, it sure does. Everyone always has some kind of speculation as to whether or not Durin has been reborn, and they certainly aren’t going to be caught as the ones that challenged him.”

“People think Thorin is Durin?”

“As they did with Thráin and Thrór before him. It’s all a guessing game, honestly, since there’s a chance he may choose to not reveal himself, as part of a bigger plan or whatnot. Considering what he did for the dwarves by endeavoring to reclaim Erebor, some are extremely suspicious. And who knows…?” He leaned down and sent her a wink. “He may very well be.”

Oh, boy. Not only has she ruined the line by cozying up to one of its heirs, but she tainted the most sacred heir of all. She could only imagine what would happen if that kind of talk really got out.

Nori abruptly patted her arm. “Not a worry. He addressed that right after the Battle, while we were all joking about it together. Presumably, Durin’s supposed to remember his past reigns. Thorin’s assured us that this life is all he knows.”

Well, that just spoiled her fun. A hobbit seducing Durin the Deathless; the ultimate mischief within a people that bordered on loathing other races.

“And neither are the lads, for that matter. And thank Mahal for it.”

“Are you sure? It sounds just like them to keep it tight.”

He pursed his lips. “Now you got me doubtin’, sweets.”

At the top of the staircase leading down to the lower levels, a group of three dwarves loitered about. They blended in with the passers-by, ever the casual collaborating bunch that had an outing or a night at the tavern in the works. Nori walked right in among them, dragging Cori with him, bringing the discussion to a brusque halt. Each one gave the star-haired dwarf their complete attention, and she could finally start to put a finger on the impression this dwarf left on her. Nori’s presence, different than his associates’, intimidated her with his unpredictability. It probably had to do with the things Thorin told her about him that now left her aware of every accessory adorning her body. He seemed the type to slip a knife from his sleeve and hold it against someone’s back with everyone around him left none the wiser. It was a skewed type of respect, but respect nonetheless.

How hard could it be to create such an illusion?

“Don’t rough him up too bad,” he announced to the group, keeping the hobbit secured to his side. “Menial crimes and all that. Can’t have any of the higher-ups on our hide, especially after last time.”

While Cori pondered how “last time” could have possibly played out, they descended the stairs into the even darker pits of the mountain. Someone standing by the archway leading toward the dwellings paid them no mind. A breath of cool air flowed from the mine entrance as they ambled toward it, pebbling Cori’s exposed skin. Should she not have learned by now that this whole city, top to bottom, could function as a preserves cellar?

“He hasn’t moved since noon, when he returned from the market,” one of the dwarves murmured to Nori. “Someone’s watched him since yesterday, like you said to.”

Cori glanced back over her shoulder, noting that the dwarf by the archway was gone. His folk were good.

“Stay close,” Nori whispered to her. “As pretty as those eyes are, I don’t recall that they work as well as the feet do.”

“Not in the center of the earth, no.”

The miners cared little for the aesthetics of this shaft, apparently. Jagged rock comprised the entrance, allowing only a span of three dwarves walking abreast to pass through at a time, and even that required a bit of contortion to avoid the harsh points. Once across the threshold, Cori saw nothing. The faint light from a torch close by faded until the silhouettes of the stone formations in the rough walls completely dissolved into the darkness. There was no sound but the shuffling of their little troop and surely the blood rushing through Cori’s body. Even the mountain did not want her in there, as she managed to find every single rock jutting out from the floor while the solid body she clung to barreled on and supported her at the same time.

She sensed an inevitable love-hate relationship coming on, with the earth of all things.

“Something’s not right,” a companion broke the mute moment. A dwarf in a mine should not sound that uneasy.

“What? It’s only been five minutes,” another one replied. “Think he’d sit out front and wave every time someone walked by?”

“No, but I wouldn’t expect him to make any changes in here. The passage was narrower the last time I was in here. The walls have been carved out.”

“Wasn’t this place already precarious?” Cori asked, clinging onto Nori’s sleeve for all she was worth. A hard, consuming pressure squeezed her lungs, and her throat clenched. _This was a horrible idea._

“A natural cavern sits above it,” the dwarf replied. “The rock of the ceiling is thin, and it only needs an explosion to cause it to collapse. We would’ve connected the mine with the cavern, but the process itself could’ve caused a collapse, and there wasn’t anything in it worth gathering when we checked it via another entrance. It was safer to just discontinue the mine altogether. The thinner walls mean weaker supports for the rock above us.”

Cori looked up, as if she could actually see the rock over her head or that it would make it any better if she could.

“Cut it short, then,” Nori said, stopping them in the middle of the mine. “He ain’t worth it, especially with the company we’re keeping.”

“He can’t be too far,” she argued, which lost some of its pressure when she could not find the face she was trying to convince. “If this scoundrel thought to stalk me with a whole crowd of people around, he’s got an agenda, and I don’t think he’ll let it go just because one of his buddies bit the dirt—iron, whatever. If I can get him off my back, I don’t see any reason to not try.”

The arm returned to her shoulder, and she instantly felt better. “Guess we should probably get used to taking orders from you.”

Not a word came from the three others, so she decided to build on the opportunity. “You won’t get any of that from me as often as I can avoid it. As you can see, I’m in over my head here.”

“That doesn’t line up with what I’ve been told, but we’ll leave this conversation for another day that we’re not lingering beneath what could be our deaths for some pervy mugger. Lead the way.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. That crooked grin was surely in place. “Then you’ll really be dead.”

Before they could about-face, every head jerked in the direction they had been going. Rapid footsteps echoed against their ears and moved further away. Without warning, the group burst into a sprint, every sense tuned into the fleeing eaversdropper headed deeper into the tunnel. Cori braced to run, sure that they would be long gone while she ran repeatedly into the same wall. The arm around her kept her in place, and she craned her neck to see a faint outline of Nori’s face.

“You ain’t catching nobody,” he said matter-of-factly. “This tunnel has an end. They’ll get him, and if not, he’ll come right back to us. No need to make a fuss.”

 So this was why Thorin kept a self-proclaimed thief on his board. And how Bilbo managed to survive an encounter with a dragon.

They continued walking nonetheless when the footsteps dissipated, their pace energetic but not frantic. The darkness perpetuated, and Cori fought her dizziness the whole way. She thought about warning her companion that she would probably fall out before they received a chance to get out to the less stale air of the carven halls. However, neither of them expected to actually step into flickering light the further they walked, and Nori hesitated.

“Shouldn’t he know better than to light a fire in here?” Cori asked, considering all the ways her fellow hobbits had passed on when the ventilation in their smials failed. A quick and painless death, she was told.

“Certainly, especially with wooden supports. He’d have no need for it anyway…unless he was working.”

The pattering of distant heavy boots echoed off the walls from behind them, and a wrenching realization fell onto them.

“Don’t think this is just a vagrant squatter,” Nori murmured, gently jiggling her sword at her hip. “Let’s see if all the princes’ boasting holds up.”

“Against a few rebels? Child’s play.”

With better light to guide their way, they jogged a little farther so Cori could actually see her opponents. They rounded a sharp corner sporting the first torch, and nearly propelled themselves off a substantial drop. Cori stared down to the floor, feeling that, while there might be some protest in her limbs, the fall itself was survivable. But that was not the real danger. The shaft, wider than the tunnel they had just been walking in, boasted newer wooden supports that framed the uneven rock. Still, they were flimsy compared to the mass of the cavern. Even Cori, whose knowledge on stone-striking amounted only to a current mine project elsewhere in the mountain that resembled the scale of this one, could tell it was inadequate. And yet, within the cavern, dozens of dwarves crowded shoulder-to-shoulder, picking away at the bare rock. There was nothing in it to yield. They mined for the sake of clearing it all away.

“What’s all this?”

“Boredom.”

On the other side of the room, their three companions stood in front of a line of a few other dwarves covered in dust from head to beard to boot. Behind them, the panting mess that was Cori’s stalker eyed the three infiltrators with contempt and caution. He restlessly fidgeted with the lapels of his jacket, sliding his palm in under the guise of grasping for his heaving chest and the unhealthy heart within it. Cori knew better, and Nori had already finished his descent into the pit by the time the conclusion hit her. With the beating of an approaching mob behind her, she followed down the unstable ladder.

The culprit saw her as soon as she caught up to Nori’s long stride, and any remaining bravado he had dashed away and right out the tunnel. It could have been the dangerous and well-known fellow next to her or the sword resting comfortably in her hand, but the important thing was the satisfaction of seeing it. He would be dealt with the same way any drifter that eyed her purse did, and learn a quick lesson about hobbits and hobbit women all at once.

“What we got going on here, _bâhae_?” Nori called out, a cat-like grin amidst the intricate braids sprouting from his face. His voice had a certain lilt; he was not happy.

“We are making use of a mine, Master Nori,” one of the negotiators answered. He seemed more level-headed than his associate. “It was started for a reason, and we believe it could give a good number of needy folk a step up.”

“A step into Mahal’s house is more like it,” Nori replied, examining the walls thoughtfully. “Who authorized this?”

“Master Mundan, son of Muldar. He heads mining operations in the city.”

The name sounded quite familiar. But of course, the same Mundan who so often tested the endurance of the patience of Thorin Oakenshield. Cori had the pleasure of hearing his name equated with many inventive descriptions; the creativity of her beau far exceeded simple praise, and certainly was not suitable for the noble company he kept. So she got it instead.

“Did the king approve?”

That one second of hesitation told them everything they did not obtain in words. “Master Mundan intended to buy the property if there were any problems.”

“Not permissible this close to residences, even by a counsellor. I’m going to have to ask you to close up shop and send everyone home. And while you’re at it, you can hand over the criminal cowering behind you. We’ve got some breaking-and-entering charges to address, on top of a harassment report quite disturbing to King Thorin. It’s an extensive list that we can clarify if need be.”

The four dwarves in the line pressed shoulders together, forming a tighter wall, and the air changed. Cori glanced around, catching eyes with onlookers. They had abandoned their work and encroached slowly on the quandary occurring. Cori, aware of their severe disadvantage in numbers, straightened and gripped her sword tighter. Right into their trap.

“We aren’t violating any codes,” the dwarf continued.

“Provoking an already unstable situation. There’s a lot wrong with poking the bear, on top of how stupid it is.”

Even the three swords suddenly pointed at him did not sway the dwarf’s fortitude. The apprehensive looks pointed toward him were rather telling, waiting for the hidden danger to pounce on them. Cori excitedly wanted to see what they were so afraid of.

A disturbance rolled like a wave through the crowd, all eyes suddenly turning to the entrance. And if the soldiers of Erebor had arrived any later, it probably would have ended poorly for the group of five who obviously found something they were not supposed to see. When Dwalin ordered his men to take into custody every dwarf that had been chipping away at the walls, none resisted with more effort than a sneer required. Cori watched the three who first drew their swords on them as they were detained; what a bitter ending she brought to something that probably would have caused a decent amount of mayhem to the mountain and a bit more pounding against Thorin’s hard skull. She shared her grin with Nori. “This is fun.”

“Oh, it’s the grandest part of the job, ruining other’s fun. Only the select few should be able to indulge in shenanigans.”

“And who falls in that category?”

He winked.

“Well,” Dwalin greeted them, particular amusement given to the hobbit, “it’s a good thing Cori’s got some self-preservation instincts. If she hadn’t tipped us off to your plans, _thief,_ you might be telling the king why his ladylove’s laid out in a hospital bed with a sword run through her.”

“You don’t seem to have much confidence in your student there,” Nori retorted, showing not the least bit regret. There was nothing to show remorse for, and she would make sure all the right people knew that.

“She’s got a good arm, but even she knows when she’s picked off more than she can chew.”

She blushed. History said differently (she challenged a 170-year-old warrior to spar when he mildly annoyed her, and said warrior still got a kick out of reminding her), but it would make no difference if she said anything. “I wasn’t taking a chance on entombing myself in here without back-up if the four of you happened to kick the bucket,” she assured Nori. “You saw me back there. I’d be fumbling my way out for days, even if there is only one tunnel.”

Dwalin patted her on the back. “This one might actually bring you some real successes. Light feet with a brain attached to them.”

“All right, we got it.” Nori glared around at the lines of workers directed up the ladder and toward the mine exit. “We still found them.”

“Now all’s left to do is get a confession outta one of ‘em.” Dwalin patted his chest. “Leave that to me. Your work’s done.”

“You’re welcome,” Nori called to his back as the dwarf turned to have a word with one of his men.

Cori bumped her shoulder to his arm. “You two should just snog already.”

“Anything to get that stick out of his arse.”

She choked on her saliva.

The soldiers led the group away to temporary holdings until the situation could be ascertained. When Cori inquired of Dwalin’s thoughts, he told her that it was most likely an attempt to gain some wealth. But miners were paid well in Erebor, which worked against their favor: they could not possibly find more riches in a deserted mine than they would in an active one that already produced well. The collapse of the mine would cause no economic problems for the city. After that, Dwalin had no more speculations, and he was clearly eager to start yanking confessions and possibly fingers in order to get them. What a character.

Cori still wondered why a dwarf that was down on his luck had anything to do with her.

Of course, nothing could be done until Thorin was present. Cori, Dwalin, Nori, and Dwalin’s second-in-command stood around one of the superior dwarves shackled to a chair in the dungeon’s interrogation room. Cori nearly leapt out of her skin when a hand slipped around her waist, palmed her stomach, and pulled her back against a hard chest. “I have only myself to blame for this perturbation,” a low, severe voice rumbled in her ear.

“You predicted it yourself,” she murmured quietly, keeping her face schooled as the others in the room all acknowledged the presence of the king.

“I hoped you would pity an old dwarf.” He sighed and eased away from her. He gave his two associates a nod before crossing his arms and leveling a heavy gaze onto the prisoner. “Who authorized your use of that mine?”

The dwarf looked him in the eye. “Lord Mundan, my king.”

“When?”

“Two weeks prior.”

“No.” Dwalin moved to stand a little closer, his presence clearly causing distress. “I was there the day the mine closed. I remember what it looked like. You think we’re stupid? That we don’t know how much damage that number of miners could do in a fortnight? They’d have less than half that work done. You’ve been at it for months.”

Thorin repositioned his glare once more. “Lie again, and your family won’t be allowed a visit before your imprisonment, Master Döhn.”

The expression on the bold dwarf remained in place, even beneath the ominous disapproval of the king. “It was Mundan, milord. I swear it. He proposed it three months ago.”

“Proposed what?”

“Trapping miners and calling for ransom.”

“What would the payment be?”

“Why does that matter?”

Dwalin swung his fist into the dwarf’s bearded jaw. “You’ve got a lot o’ nerve, with your life in our hands.”

“Isn’t it always?” He shook his head to clear it of the daze. “He never mentioned what he wanted. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was just for the deed alone, the way he talked about it. Sadistic old bugger.”

“And what does that make you?” Nori smirked.

He shrugged. “Resourceful.”

“Monetary gain,” Cori concluded. “That was your main objective?”

He gave her a strange look, as if just noticing her. “Certainly, though I’d expect a little less criticism from you. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“ _Itkitî_!” Thorin growled, needing no movement of his feet to impress his ire on the dwarf. “You’ve let your tongue run loosely.”

The prisoner recovered quickly, sporting a grin. “On the contrary. I’ve kept it tied for too long.”

Thorin turned away, showing his back while staring at the floor in contemplation. “Idrim.”

“Yes, milord.” Dwalin’s second stepped forward, retrieving the dwarf from the chair and dragging him out of the room. It was so swift an act, Cori could only glimpse the red bruise on his cheek and the smirk curled in his beard, aimed straight at her. She snapped her teeth at him, satisfied with his look of bewilderment and Nori’s ungraceful snort.

“Why would he give all that up?” Cori murmured when only the four of the remained in the room. “Seems cowardly to me.”

“He’s lying,” Dwalin replied, tapping the toe of his boot rapidly. “He’s determined to take everyone down with him. Dwarves are not compliant prisoners, even amongst their own. If he can convince us of a falsity, he’ll retain some dignity in his capture. Clearly, he had a cover-up in the reserves for something like this. Now comes the fun part: guessing the truth.”

“So should we suspect Mundan?”

“No,” Thorin replied. “He’s a rock in my boot, but he was a good friend to my father. He has never given me any reason to believe he would kill for greed. He’s want for nothing. At least, I would suspect others before him.” He sighed. “I suppose I can’t trust anyone at that table.”

“You’ve always got Balin,” she reminded him.

“The one mercy in that Valar-forsaken room.”

“So what now?”

“We question Mundan and see if he knows anything. If it’s the only lead we have, we must act on it.”

“I’ll get to work on the other prisoners.” Dwalin spared them each a nod before he strode out of the room. Nori followed, complaining beneath his breath about the official report he was going to have to write now. It was very strategically spoken; Thorin complained about Nori’s very skimpy records concerning his discoveries, though it seemed to stem from forgetfulness most of the time. The dwarf kept his files in his head, connecting the ties as if he were stringing them together on a table. Nori might have been counted a liability, but he was too valuable an asset for the risk to overshadow the benefit.

“Are you pleased?” Cori suddenly found herself engulfed beneath yet another heavy arm and steered toward the door with little opportunity to resist. She figured she had caused enough trouble that being a nuisance would just be juvenile. “Your first assignment was a major triumph. Can you be content with that for a while?”

She smiled, wrapping her arm around Thorin’s waist and laying her head on his chest. “I am pleased. But I don’t feel like it actually accomplished anything spectacular.”

“You have to be patient. It may not make sense by itself, but it will all come together eventually.”

“Are you angry?”

“We do not know what they were planning, but there is always the possibility of causalities. You quite possibly saved many lives, and I cannot be angry about that.”

“But…”

He chuckled, squeezing her closer. “I’ve said it before, _khajimele_ : you will be my death.”

“But not today.”

“No, it will be slow and almost enjoyable. I won’t even know it’s happening.”

She giggled, happy to imagine a long, slow journey toward death at his side. It would, indeed, be the most pleasurable trudge to the end, if this mountain did not bog her down too badly.

Things were not always so simple.

The soldier sent to fetch Mundan reported that he had fled the city, leaving behind his aggrieved wife and two confused little lads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bâhae: friend  
> itkitî: be silent (command)
> 
> We've come now to that part of the semester where every professor assigns the final research paper for the class. I HATE research papers because I'm not good at them, so I'm struggling once again. Bear with me. You all have had wonderful encouraging words to say so far, and I'm grateful for those who've stuck around. It really helps to give me inspiration to write when I finally get a moment or two to myself. <3


	12. A Place of Your Own

"Did you hear? The Woodland Realm’s gone and upped the taxes on our using the Old Forest Road.”

Judging by the hushed voices, nobody should have hear the conversation going on. Apparently, sneaky hobbits were not accounted for. Cori paused with the brush poised on Shadow’s coat, lifting up on her toes to peer over his back. Two soldiers stood next to a pile of bridles, working oil into the leather as they spoke.

“Again? Hasn’t that twig Thranduil rinsed us already? His adjustment last year nearly brought the council to declare war. The king stopped ‘em, but I heard he wasn’t far behind them.”

“The elf will keep raising the toll so long as the treasury remains as full as it does. We’ve got plenty to spare, and he knows it, so we’ll have no problem paying our Ered Luin caravans through.” He scoffed. “Like he’s got any use for that much money. He stays in his little hole in that cesspool and flirts with Dale. Like the humans have anything valuable.”

“They still make his wine, which is why their toll’s less than ours.”

“Says who?”

“Says the ambassador to Dale. He’s got a loose tongue when it’s tasted that Iron Hills brew.”

A slurred curse came from one of them, and knowing their tongue probably would not have helped in translation. No more articulate than grunting orcs. “Well, now I think the council was onto something. The king really going to let the tree-nibblers pull us around by the collar?”

“The rebels have been dragging _him_ around. Though I can’t say I pity him. He’s bringing down Mahal’s wrath on himself with that halfling. Nothing natural about that, for certain.”

“Think she’s with ‘em?”

“Doubt it. Nothing but a little mouse, that one, though I’ve heard she’s got a mouth on her. But I do think she holds the king under some spell. Know nothing about their kind but that they keep to themselves, having no contact with anyone outside their lands. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Now that you mention it.”

Cori rolled her eyes. _Everyone else keeps to themselves because_ you _have nothing to do with them_

“What’s going on here?”

The metal of their armor clanked loudly as frantic feet shuffled, and she grinned. Nori was right. These dwarves did hardly anything short of worshipping him. “Beg pardon, my king. We were-were on break.”

“Lunch shift ended twenty minutes ago. Out to the gate.”

Spouting out some blubber that vaguely resembled “yesmilord,” the guards scrambled out of the stables with an assembly of pots and pans banging off their bodies as they went. Cori hid a snicker behind her hand. Dwarves had no business in the stealth industry, that was certain. She peeked over Shadow’s back again.

Thorin scoffed as he stared at the door they disappeared through. “Gossiping like a sewing circle.”

She cleared her throat, leveling a glare on the playful eyes that met hers. “Have respect for those sewing circles, Your Majesty. You’d be a king of naked miners if it wasn’t for them.”

A deep, jubilant laugh escaped him, and he ambled toward Shadow. “Do not think I drape myself and you in that supurb fur at night and not recognize the craftsmanship that went into it.”

“Just so we’re clear.” She ducked beneath the pony’s chin and popped up on the other side, nearly bumping noses with the grinning dwarf.

“Idle words from ignorant soldiers have little weight.”

She reached up and flicked at the imaginary dust on her shoulder.

He grinned. “Right.”

“So what brings the king down to the stables?” she asked, raking a brush through Shadow’s thick mane. Thorin stroked a hand down the pony’s muzzle, and Cori paused at his softness as he gazed at the animal. Then she looked down at the other hand still dangling by his side. She gasped; it clutched to half an apple. “Clinging to old habits, I see.”

He shrugged, taking a bite before offering the rest to the eager pony. When it was gone, he touched the furry cheek and dashed a stray piece of hair away from the kind face staring back at him. “You, my friend, will want for nothing so long as you live here. Few deserve it more than you. You took care of her when I could not be there. For that, I thank you, and offer all the treats I can spare to a mulish, stouthearted steed.”

_Giver, save me. I have never felt so randy for a man talking to a pony._

But, of course, it had nothing to do with the devious smirk he cast her way afterward.

“Actually,” he continued when the moment passed. “I was tending to business just outside. They’re taking them out.”

Already? Dwalin worked fast. “I want to see.”

“They are marching them out of the city. Not exactly a spectacle.”

“I want to see my handiwork. Face it. If I hadn’t tailed that one schmuck, you’d have a bunch of miners held for ransom and not two dozen crooks brought to justice. I still haven’t gotten my thank you.”

“I have already explained to you my thoughts on that. No matter the outcome, I will not encourage it.”

She tucked Shadow back into his stall, slipping him one last chunk of carrot before he settled down with his hay. “When my stealth stops being useful, I’ll stop using it.”

“That will come when your silent feet take me by surprise in our chambers and halt my heart for good.”

She looked eagerly into his face. “Have I actually startled you that much?”

He said nothing, leading the way out of the stables and into the main hall. What he did not know was that he just handed her a new game. Or maybe he knew. He liked to play, too.

They passed through the arched entrance just as a troop of soldiers tramped toward the enormous gate with a cluster of chained dwarves in the middle of their circle. The prisoners attracted very little attention from those crossing through the cavern on their own errands; the king and his companion accomplished that well enough on their own, though that was nothing out of the ordinary. Even the prisoners were not immune to the allure of such an odd couple, though made their acknowledgement through haughty glares.

She took a great deal of credit for their capture, on part because she felt she deserved it. However, it was their silence when probed to reveal their motives behind going along with Mundan, or his if they knew, that condemned them to exile. A lie might have saved them: pleading on behalf of their dispossessed family or likewise. Dwarven pride did not stoop so low, she learned after inquiring. If these people excelled in something above all others, they mastered conviction to a cause.

“Is this what happens to attempted murderers here?”

“If they show no remorse. If they plead guilty and are repentant, they serve a number of years in prison. If not, they are deemed likely to make another effort, and preventative measures must be put into effect. There is little room for error when we are all packed into close quarters as we are.”

“I assume this is rare.”

“And why do you?”

“I’ve witnessed dwarves from completely different regions merge together to create an unstoppable force. In all that time, I never once saw true discourse that would lead to one dwarf seeking to harm another, even bickering politicians. Like you said, you can’t take chances; the world has been against you more times than it’s come to your aid, and you all understand that having unity is the only way to ensure your survival. You need to trust each other, because you can’t trust anyone else.”

As if his bewildered one-eyed gawk was not enough, he turned toward her so she could feel the full weight of the awe in his gaze. “Someone’s been paying attention.”

“Obviously. We both know I never would’ve said anything like that five years ago.”

“‘We deserve our lot.’ Does that sound more congruent?”

She frowned. “Yes.”

A hand curled around her waist and caressed her gently. “Then you’ve proven yourself a willing pupil.”

She prided herself on never quite having “irrational” attached to her character. Had she been exposed fully to the challenges the dwarves faced sooner, she may have accepted what her little company helped her to realize. Would it have been that hard though? She knew a little something about finding the right people to trust and holding onto those that made themselves stalwart allies. After everything that happened, the ones in that position that she would name first were the dwarf next to her and his kin. She did not doubt their loyalty to her. She could not. Otherwise, she would be jumping at shadows for the rest of her life.

Thorin meant well by her in everything that he did. She had to accept that and try not to get too carried away with protecting herself when she truly was not under attack.

“There were more,” he stated simply, staring at the procession marching out of the city.

“More?”

“In one of the main mines. Soldiers found that rebels had been chipping away at the supports in areas that were not frequently seen by the miners. This highlighted an issue of regular mandatory safety checks that has been neglected under my nose, but it also connects to Mundan and whatever he was doing in the lower levels.”

“Has he been found?”

“He was seen riding through Dale, but he did not stop. Someone reported that he turned toward the Iron Hills, but he will not be able to blend in once Dáin receives my raven.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

“Bastard. Nothing worse than deliberate deception.”

He hummed, casting his eyes to the ground. He had been melancholy since receiving the news. Mundan’s betrayal was a particularly heavy blow. She learned that the dwarf had played the better part of an uncle to Thorin as he grew up in Erebor. After he told her of this, he said, “It’s an easy road, earning the trust of a child with a mind to use that later in his life.” Cori did not believe that was the case here. How could anyone watch Thorin grow into the man he was and not see how remaining on his side was more beneficial than opposing him? Something else influenced Mundan to do what he did. Some recent development that made him lose his trust in Thorin.

_What indeed?_ she thought bitterly, recalling the discussion between the soldiers in the stables.

_It’s on that scoundrel that he can’t cope._

She hugged Thorin’s arm to her chest, pressing her lips where the cloth of his tunic was thinnest and she could feel the warmth of his skin beneath it. “Are you going to pursue him?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I will bar him from the city permanently. He will be in exile like the rest of them. His family confessed to knowing nothing about his plans. They can leave with him, if they wish, but I offered and advised them to stay. The lads are young and she is merely an apprentice for her trade. They could not sustain themselves on the road alone.”

“Thank you for being merciful.”

He grinned. “That is not an unconventional trait, even if many kings do not make use of it. I won’t be praised for not being barbaric.”

“It wasn’t really praise. Just letting you know that I think it’s the right thing to do. My opinion matters, as you’ve told me.”

“It does. A great deal.”

“So long as your ears stay unblocked long enough to hear what I have to say.”

His fingers pinched her hip through her dress. “Very funny. As we’re on the subject, what do you think of rations?”

She jerked her head toward him. “Rations?”

“For us. Specifically all who live in the same corridor as us. Just for a little while.”

“I’m…not going to complain, but why?”

He scoffed. “A hobbit would be the first to complain about a reduction in food portions.”

She cared nothing for the people nearby as she drove the sole of her boot into his calf. He did not even flinch, though a fake one might have given her at least some satisfaction.

“I am budgeting.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You? With that treasure horde below your feet?”

“At the moment, my legacy is starting a meaningless war with my neighbors. I don’t want to be remembered for draining my inheritance when I just obtained it.”

“Your legacy is much bigger than that, and even those who aren’t dwarves would agree with me. But I’ll play along. What are you draining it on?”

“Mining is our largest industry, obviously. Nothing else sustains us so well. But because of the incident with Mundan, the miners are refusing to return to work until the supports have been resolved. The strike has gone on for three days and in that time, we have gained an entire section of new occupants: three corridors, double-sided. If Fíli is going to have any room for famine or otherwise when he is crowned, I need to spend carefully.”

“When will that be done?”

“A week.”

She winced. Hard hit.

“As that is the case, I’ve decided to make some arrangements to increase self-production in other areas, which will help us in the long run should something like this happen again. Would you come with me, Miss Houndberry?” He extended his arm to her.

She took it with a wary stare. “You’re not going to make me perform in the tavern, are you?”

He grinned broadly. “What gave you that idea?”

“Kíli mentioned something…”

Was there anything so adorable than Thorin snickering? “You’ve given me something to think about, but no.” With an acknowledgement to those passing nearby that offered a bow of the head to the king, he led her back toward the Royal Halls. When they came upon the guarded staircase leading up to the hallway, however, he kept walking straight. This, she learned some time earlier, led to the far north side of the mountain, right above the watchtower called Ravenhill. Cori had not been beyond the archway that she knew led to a covered walkway built into the mountain face, a common spot for Dwalin’s training routines.

“The one spot that I could have sunlight, and you forbid me from going there.”

“The battlements get plenty of sun in the afternoon. Besides, this was only a temporary arrangement. From this day forward, you will be allowed in here, and I presume you’re going to want to spend as much time as possible here anyway.”

“It’s not another cave, is it? That was beautiful, truly, but I will choose to stay on the walkway and do nothing before I have to go into some dark hole again.”

“Trust me, there will be plenty of light for you there. It’s mandatory, after all.”

Suddenly, a spark of hope brightened in her mind, and she gaped at the pleased smirk. “You did not.”

“I did something, whether or not it’s what you’re thinking.”

By the time they were out into the open air, Cori was essentially dragging him. And if he did not pick up the pace, she would leave him behind. Finally, at the end of the walkway was yet another arch, but this one did not lead indoors. She passed through and stopped, bug-eyed and entirely euphoric.

A brick path led from the last step of the small set of stairs at her feet to the other end of the walled box they now stood in, which stretched a good sixty feet. Another one ran perpendicular to it in the center. Either side of the walk nearly overflowed with freshly-churned dirt. To the right was a little square of brick with a wooden bench padded with cushions and pillows and covered by an awning. Next to it were some metal chairs and a small stone table. All throughout were poles stuck into the dirt with bird perches on top that were filled with seed. Already, a few songbirds swooped down to pick up a morsel and take off back for the pine trees growing tall and strong around the mountain again.

Cori blinked, shaken out of her stupor when a hand pressed into her lower back. “Go on.”

She first turned toward the terrace, but her eyes were fixated on the dirt plots. Her head spun with immediate ideas for what could go where. It was September, but there was still time to plant a few vegetables and even some flowers to enjoy until the snows hit, even this far north. She would have no trouble building her own dividers to separate the produce into sections; how many times had she done it back in Buckland as her neighbors rebuilt their gardens?

Her own garden. Yavanna, he made her a garden.

When her racing thoughts were interrupted by unnaturally deep chuckling, she remembered who she was with and that she was going to absolutely devour him when she finally got him alone. She turned away from the dirt to face the dwarf standing with his hands folded in front of him, patiently watching her with amusement. “You have a craftswoman’s mind,” he said, gesturing with a tilt of his head. “To look on the raw form of something and immediately design the finished product in your head. That is a passion that, had I known the full extent, I would’ve done this a lot sooner if only to see that look on your face.”

“I think you’re misinterpreting the look a little bit.” She clenched her jaw. This dwarf keenly mastered mastered forcing emotions out of her. “You’re right, but…Thorin, this is…”

As she looked out over her gift with a hand to her mouth, he slipped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “It was never my intention to smother your enthusiasms with stone. You are my _hobbit_ , and you should be allowed to be one. Now you have a little piece of home, no matter how menial it might be. In time, I hope it will help this whole place to become your home.”

_I live here,_ she thought as she stared at the mountain wall rising high above them, a sudden anxious tingle settling in her stomach. This was where she intended to spend her life from then on. The garden was a symbol: its permanence in the cliff side was the same as hers in this city. She forced a smile to hide the unease creeping into her mind once again, trying to focus on the warm embrace she sat in. _He is home. Don’t forget how long you’ve waited for it and how far you’ve come to feel this way._

“Why do I sense there’s more in this than just that?”

“That is insulting, my love. How could you ever presume that this is an endeavor for me to return to your favor after our discrepancy?”

“You’re making it hard to not like you.”

He chuckled, his breath stirring against her ear when he kissed it. “That’s the idea.” He sat down on the bench, pulling her in to stand between his legs. Her hands rested lightly in his grip. “I am not trying to oppose you on everything. Neither am I groveling for forgiveness, because I’ve done nothing wrong in trying to protect you. But I do not want to punish you by making you miserable in this place. Quite the opposite. I wish for you to see the advantage of being here, with me.”

“You have fresh air, plants, and light to compete with. I hope you’re ready for the challenge.”

“By Mahal, _khajimele,_ I will fight harder than I ever have before. This will be a delicate battle, I know, but I am ready to do what it takes. I will have what I want: you, by my side, willingly.”

She stepped closer, craning her neck only a small amount to touch her nose to his. “I really hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

He scoffed. “Think I expected you’d come quietly? I have always enjoyed our games, and you will always be entertaining.”

_I’m counting on that. I have nothing else to offer you._ “You’re resourceful, I suppose.”

“Obviously. Do you think I would’ve put windows in my chambers if not for the benefit of my cause?”

“Yes.” She smirked, meeting the provocation in his eyes. She was not one of his bootlickers; she would call him out. “I’m resourceful, too. I learned that you put those windows in as soon as you got back from the West, long before you even expected me to return.”

“In preparation for you.”

“Or that you took regular trips to Dale for discussions with King Bard, even when there was nothing new to address. Did you even meet with him each time you went? Or that you took daily walks on Ravenhill.”

“Your point, _tharkhkund_?”

He hated it when someone got into his head. She was not the only one providing entertainment. “You like the light,” she murmured. “I know you do.”

“Nonsense. I am a dwarf.”

“Certainly. But you’re not one that plays by the rules.” She gestured to their position.

He grinned. “No, I don’t.” With a shake of his head and a sigh, he relented. “I spent the majority of my life above ground. I suppose I’ve gotten used to it. Even grown to like it.”

“So I will not always be alone out here, will I?”

“Rest assured, _khajimele,_ I have plenty of reason to be out here with you.” He rose abruptly from his seat and turned an analytical eye toward the garden. “Your pleasure wasn’t my only intention for this place.”

_Ah._ “You talked with Dís.”

“She approached me, actually. She mentioned your desire to start a contribution to the city.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Thorin, there’s a lot of people in Erebor.”

“I never expected you to feed the mountain from here, though what you do with your goods after you’ve grown them is entirely up to you. No, I will give you this responsibility.” He had that look on his face, the one that displayed how entirely pleased he was with himself. “You will make sure everyone that lives in the Royal Halls is fed. The meat will be brought in from elsewhere as usual, but everything else will come from your garden and be sent to the kitchens.”

_Feeding dwarves again, huh_? She was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Will I have a say in how they’re prepared?”

“Of course. Everything is yours until they are set in front of the rest of us on the table.”

“And I’ll participate in the preparation.” It was not a question. Rather, an informative gesture.

He nodded. “If you desire it.”

“Can I start doing that now?”

He chuckled, adoration shining in his eyes. “You will have Bombur to contend with, I must warn you.”

“Royal kitchens need more than one cook, especially with how many guests you bring in.”

“That is true. All right. Start whenever you wish. But that is not all. I believe you discussed another possibility with my sister.”

She grinned broadly. “Herbs.”

“Aye. You will be the infirmary’s medicine supplier. Oín can give you a list of herbs he requires the most and others that he feels might be important to be in stock. Illness is not a significant issue; he’s told me that we will need those that promote wound healing, have supplementary value, and support expectant and recently delivered mothers.”

She already had her own list of forming in her head for such things. _Echinecea, chamomile, ginger._

“If there is a disease outbreak, we still have the option of importing. But this will cut out the transport tax from regular restocking. And it will be less of a burden on Oín and his staff. Especially recently, they have had their hands full.”

“And you trust me with all this?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s a lot to put on one person.”

“Have you not spent the last two years at the head of operations to restore your family’s homeland? Our subsidies have been halted, which means things are stable. Or have you been avoiding me all this time, and all that talk of supporting your family was an excuse?”

She did not reply. All her concentration went toward the “what if” scenarios swirling around in her head, most of which explained how horrible of an idea it was to put so many people’s lives in her care. Medicine was too sensitive to mess with.

“Will you admit defeat, Miss Houndberry?” And then she remembered that this man knew how to play her like a fiddle, and made sure she felt every moment of it. As much as he had ever accused her of manipulating him, he failed to look back at the politician he truly was (and needed to be).

“Before I’ve even begun? You know I have to put some effort into wrecking things first.”

“And I cannot wait to see the results.” He brushed a piece of hair out of her eye when the breeze tossed it about. “I have looked beyond the peasantry in your past and seen the great things you are capable of. Maybe one day, you’ll be able to do the same.”

“Is there something wrong with peasantry?”

“Not at all. But, in your case, the idea is holding you back. For whatever reason, you use it as an excuse to make yourself and your works inferior. I will not have it any more than I would have you openly insult yourself.”

Her wide eyes fixed to the floor. Humility in the face of great kings and lords had been reflexive; no need to rise to their level of pomposity, after all. But he was right. She neglected the very idea of blurring the lines of caste. He reprimanded her before about doing it. She was doing the exact opposite of what she intended, and never realized.

His fingers gingerly raised her chin, bringing her gaze to meet his. He could tell what rattled inside her head. “You, of all people, have the wherewithal to demonstrate the superiority of traits that truly matter. With this garden, you can lead and serve. There are many who could use a lesson like that.”

“Sagely words. I think you simplify your own wisdom.”

“I am nearly two hundred years old. _You_ will be an example for the youth that sensibility can be achieved early in life.”

“Thorin, you are not putting me on a pedestal.”

“Hm. But how would anyone see you otherwise?” He actually bent his knees, lowering to her height, and offered a smug grin. When she feigned a punch to his nose, he did nothing but laugh.

“Pity me, would you? I’m terrified.”

She had to admit it, because if she did not, something requiring far more responsibility than this would fall into her lap, and then she would really topple it all like an overturned banquet table. Was it not better to be truthful than to play as if she were qualified for any sort of management position? Nothing good ever came out of embellishing one’s skills, least of all perpetual lying.

“And that is why you are not alone.” He hugged her close, tightening his arms around her shoulders and smiling into her hair when she sighed contently. “If you persist in looking to me as an example, let me remind you that I have a whole assembly of advisors that I consult with daily. You know who you can trust here. Never feel like you will be turned away.”

She was welcomed the moment she met everyone. Whether or not her interference with Fíli’s demise on that bloody battlefield all those years ago had anything to do with it was irrelevant. She knew she had this entire preposterous family at her back and on her side for one reason or another. She earned it. All that stamping and shouting about not trusting other races had nothing to do with prejudice. Dwarves were smart. They knew the right kind of people they could count on. They would not be double-crossed twice.

Perhaps she misjudged Thorin when calling him out on not forgiving her for her staggering blunder. Would he truly allow her into his home, and anywhere near the family he loved so much, if he felt she were misleading him again? She had to decide what story she wanted to stick to: was he wise or was he resentful? She knew the answer.

“Thank you, love.”

He kissed her hair. “Always, dear one.”

              ***********************

Cori chose to tell Thorin of her pride in his handling of the incident with Mundan. No excessive public executions or general raid of the mountain in a frenzied effort to find out who else could be involved (even though her life had been in jeopardy). He proved himself the composed and rational ruler she always thought him capable of being. Her approval might make future problems just as swiftly resolved, and she had only the creative process to determine how she would go about expressing her gratitude.

But there was one topic that was just too much for him.

It was noon. Thorin returned to their bedchambers around this time of day, choosing rather to have meal with her instead of in his office, and so Cori marched with purpose and a spring in her step toward the Royal Halls. On the route there, she passed the armory, as usual; this time, she halted.

The typical clanging of the blacksmith’s shop inside only joined the cacophony of shields and plates crashing together. Stern dwarves lined the main aisle, squished together in between stands of neatly stacked armor. The occasional freshly-sharpened sword twirled within the group, and no one batted an eye. Before fake skirmishes, they chattered like children preparing for a game in the front yard. Even fighting orcs brought them some kind of bloodthirsty buzz that used to scare the daylights out of her. They were silent apart from a grunt or low murmur of acknowledgement, and each one glared at their work, not with anger, but just plain annoyance.

What could possibly bother them so much to make their favorite pastime a chore?

“Cori?”

She turned, a little taken back to hear Balin’s voice of all people. He approached her, mumbling soundlessly into her beard. He was genuinely concerned.

Thorin was not in their bedchambers, was he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tharkhkund: fox
> 
> You know what's even better than no time to write? Writer's block coupled with no time. You know what fixes a long absence? Cliffhangers!  
> Anyway, I'm somewhat out of the rut and I've retrieved my life from the clutches of library databases and faking a decent essay voice. On a lighter note, I finished my first read-through of LOTR. If Tolkien weren't so long-winded, that entire story could be squished into one book. Oh, well. 
> 
> If you're still here, thanks for sticking around. I'll try to up my game a bit. <3


	13. Hands on the Table

The moment Cori stepped into Thorin’s office after a frustrated Balin filled her in on the king’s completely abysmal mood, she knew the old dwarf had her specifically inmind. The smoke of Erebor’s great, blazing forges poured from the top of Thorin’s head, and the fires burned in his eyes. She thought his glower fixed on the door was aimed at her, but when she moved around the room, he did not follow. She expected an eruption at any time.

So, against her survival instincts, she hopped up onto the desk in front of him and took his fisted, shaking hand in hers. Gently, she coaxed it open, laying out each finger one by one until it was completely flat. Then she rubbed the calloused palm, moving in slow, purposeful strokes. She paid close attention to the scars and burns littered across the skin, occupying her mind with various scenarios that would have given him the marks. Gradually, the tension in the limb subsided until it pliantly shifted with her movements. When she drifted down to touch the softness of his inner wrist, the hand hung limp within her grip. She looked up.

He watched the connection between them. A line still dented between his brows, and those beside his eyes were deeper, but the stiffness in his face had relaxed a little. His gaze was not as sharp, hardly focused on her ministrations. Rather, he listened to the cacophony raging in his head. But the imminent rupturing of a blood vessel had been averted. Finally, he sought her out, freely displaying himself to her. The irritation, overload, and gratitude all blended into one, and she planned a massage that evening to dispel all the pressure crushing him into the floor. 

“We have paid the reparations. Why will he not release us?”

There was only one that he might have been talking about, and his general behavior instantly made so much sense. “Thranduil.”

He nodded. His other fist still covered his mouth, but through the rest of his face, she noticed the intensity return to this expression. She flipped his hand over and traced across the marred flesh of his knuckles. In response, one of his fingers rose and brushed her softer palm. She smiled. Simple, but such indications marked their relationship. Had from the beginning.

A letter sat on the cluttered desk in front of him, slightly crinkled on one edge where it had been held too brutally. Cori craned her neck to see it. The penmanship flowed like a stream compared to the dwarven hand she usually saw that could have been chipped with a hammer and chisel. Always premeditated, those elves; never doing a thing without flawless purpose in every stride. Flawless, however, was debatable.

“What is this about?”

Thorin’s jaw twitched when he looked at the paper again. “He is demanding yet another payment. I have refused, as I have already fulfilled the stipulations of the treaty after our…skirmish.”

Those two were still going at it about the Battle of the Five Armies? Elf-dwarven disputes had stamina. “The orcs were responsible for all those casualties. Why can he demand anything from you?”

He shook his head. “We began the conflict, and there was some confrontation. A few soldiers were lost on both sides before the orcs came. As it is, the reason the elves were even there was because of us; otherwise, they claim they never would’ve interfered with the orcs. On top of that, had we never pursued the mountain, the orcs would not have been stirred. The wizard confirmed that. Therefore, we are indirectly responsible for the damage, and supposedly perfectly equipped to pay for it.”

“Bollocks.”

He shrugged. “That’s what I said.”

“He can’t dangle that over your head for eternity. That’s how you get entire nations to hate you. Sooner or later, you’d just stop interacting altogether.”

“Had I a say, it would be sooner. However, we need that damn road.”

So long as he admitted it. “Look, I’m on your side, but this may not be the time to be your usual endearingly stubborn self.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that. I saw the soldiers preparing in the armory. Think a minute. Pay him, and add a little threat into it so that he won’t want any more money coming from you.”

He scowled.

“I know you don’t like it, but at least try to avoid war for a little while longer.”

“Save that speech for him. _He’s_ the one keeping my people captive.”

She startled. “What?”

“A caravan from the Blue Mountains tried to get through two weeks ago, carrying trade from the Shire. Little did they know, the elf decided to raise the taxes on the road through the forest. They knew what the payment was initially and refused to pay anything more, considering it was already absurdly high. They’ve sat imprisoned ever since, demanding contact with me and for Thranduil to poke his cowardly twig self out of his twig fortress and face me.”

He was most articulate when reciting poetry about the elves. When she giggled, a little twitch of a grin flickered onto his face momentarily before his glower returned. She went back to rubbing his hand.

“So now what should I do?”

He could not possibly be stumped on this. But apparently, he sought words of wisdom that she allegedly possessed. Oh, how she wished she could give him some. “I think you better march in there and drag his skinny arse out of his twig fortress.”

Finally, a full smile appled his cheeks, and his body shook with a silent laugh. “The queen has spoken.”

“I’ll drag your magnificent arse out of your stone fortress, if you keep that drivel up.” She sighed. “No, we can’t do that. We need to be the more civil ones, and make it blatantly obvious to everyone that he’s out of line.”

“You are asking a great deal of me, darling. His very presence repulses me on a good day.”

“Maybe you should send Kíli in.”

He chuckled, fondness in his smile. “A moment with him, and the elf will be begging for a compromise. You truly have the cleverest ideas, _khajimele._ ”

“Appreciated, but as much as I enjoy doing it any other time, I wasn’t making fun of Kíli.”

He tilted his head. “And why would you suggest him?”

 _The lad better make it worth sticking my neck out for him._ She slid off the desk and stood next to his chair. “I recall a particular moment while crossing through Mirkwood toward the West that you nearly handed us to the elves yourself, refusing to pay the usual taxes.”

“I didn’t refuse. I swore to pay upon our return to Erebor when we did not need every coin we could carry. The problem lay in their mistrust of me, despite how reliable we had been in our toll payments up until that point. I specifically remember an impudent little hobbit complied anyway.”

“I wasn’t about to put myself on the elves’ bad side for the pride of a bunch of dwarves. They’re very handy when a little hobbit is traveling by her lonesome in unfamiliar territory. At any rate, had I not intervened, we most certainly would have been delayed. But let’s go back a little further than that. The only dwarf with a cool head in that forest happened to be your youngest nephew. He attempted to _politely_ appeal to their sympathy. It didn’t work, but he at least got them to stop and consider. It did a great deal more than the barking the lot of you chose instead.”

He raised a brow. “So you’re saying the lad should be the liaison with Mirkwood?”

“You _have_ been listening to him.”

“Of course, I have. But the same motivation that calls me to listen also requires me to protect him.”

“Think he can’t handle himself around a bunch of elves? He can shoot a bow as good as any of them.”          

“I know about the she-elf.”

She snapped her mouth shut. There should be no reason for him knowing, except that she always forgot how perceptive he was. Who would not expect him to keep an eye on his heirs?

“And it seems you do, too. He told you directly.” He lowered his pensive gaze to the desk. “I suppose I know why he wouldn’t tell me. Still…”

“Why does he have to fear your judgment?”

“You can forget the argument you’re about to make. I told you already. Hobbits have proven themselves trustworthy. Elves have not. I will not allow him to get hurt while chasing after a youthful fantasy.”

“We both know that’s not all of the truth.”

“You know nothing about her character. How could you assume that this is right for him?”

“Because he wants it. I know damn well what it’s like to desire something you can’t have because it’s not ‘proper.’ Leaving Buckland wasn’t a quick decision. And look how that turned out.”

“Have you not renounced your immature choice?”

“The way I went about it. Not the choice itself. Obviously, Kíli wants to do it right—gain your approval first—since he hasn’t run off to her already. Shouldn’t you honor that?”

She might as well have been pulling his teeth, the way he looked at her. Did he expect her to be on his side for this? So far, she scarcely played by the rules in this city, and if she was lucky, she might convince him that rules were always meant to be broken. But he was ever as obstinate as the mountain he lived beneath, and despite her irritation, she admired his unshakable convictions. “He has been expedient in communicating with elves.”

One step forward. “As opposed to your council, who want to start a war every time Thranduil so much as breathes in their direction. You’re included in that, too.”

“Kíli’s allegiance will be divided.”

“On the contrary. They’ll make relations stronger. Maybe dwarves and elves can tolerate being in the same room with each other if one from each are able to couple.”

He groaned, which, were she that cruel, she would have vocally likened to a whine.

“Kíli doesn’t have the crown in his future as of right now, and Fíli and Tira are actively working on the next heir, or so Fíli’s alluded to.” She grunted against the nausea. He was very proud of his skills as a husband, in mundane ways and not so much. “You’ve always been lenient with Kíli, haven’t you? At least let one of them be free.”

He rested his head on his fist. “Let us focus on the diplomatic matters first. Then we will speak about his private life.”

“We’re picking it up later. I’m going to make sure you don’t hear the end of it just because it makes you uncomfortable. Ridiculous dwarf.”

“Yes,” he drawled, sporting a little grin. “We will talk about it.”

“Will you consider sending him to rendezvous with Thranduil?”

“Frankly, I trust no one else not to make a greater mess of it, since the elf has essentially committed an act of war by threatening the welfare of my people. Kíli hasn’t the desire to fight to the same degree that he used to. Combine that cooled blood with a willingness to be civil with the elves for the sake of…his fancy, I think he will be able to negotiate an accord of some kind that will be favorable for both sides. His authority will keep everyone else that accompanies him in check.”

“Congratulations. He might make you a new sword for your birthday. You’re welcome.”

“He has rubbish smithing skills.” He blew a long breath from his nose, setting his idle hands to work by shuffling papers around. “Mahal, you’ve done it.”

“What?”

“Achieved this city’s worst fears. You have made me bend to your will. Dwalin says I’m better off giving you my crown already.”

“It’s too big for me,” she mumbled. “Everything is.”

He cleared his throat, and when she looked up, she found his scolding gaze leveled directly on her. She smiled and nodded. _Self-deprecation isn’t an easy habit to curb._

“Well, don’t you need to go pack?”

Her brow drew inward, a little peeved with his obvious self-satisfaction. “And where am I going?”

“You’re tagging along with Kíli, because he is leaving the mountain.”

“Is that an order?”

“That is me answering your next question.”

She snorted. “And what makes you think I want to go to Mirkwood? I didn’t enjoy going through there with the company three years ago, and I didn’t like my return trip either.”

“Because you’re ready to take every opportunity for freedom, and I know I can’t stop you, even if I declare this an official embassy that requires me to hand-pick the participants.” He was displeased. She saw it in the strain of his grin and his refusal to look at her.

“So you’ll let me go?”

He laughed humorlessly. “Do I have a choice?”

“Yes.” She sighed. _The value of moderation, Houndberry. He’s smart. He doesn’t need to be told twice what you think about his protection._ “Thorin, if you tell me ‘no’ as king of Erebor, I’ll listen. This is a matter between your people and the elves, and it has nothing to do with me. You don’t think I have any control whatsoever?”

“I am trying to determine middle ground,” he replied, looking up at her with frazzled eyes. “I am trying.”

“I know.” She frowned, laden suddenly by Dís’s strong, direct words: “Then do not make a habit of driving him mad with worry.” Did he not already have another kind of madness plaguing his mind so often? He feared succumbing, and she vowed in the quiet hours of a night when his anguish hit hard never to let him fall. She would not be the cause of it. “That urge to be meddlesome isn’t your fault. It’s who you are, and I have to remember not to blame you. Yavanna knows I’ve made you compromise yourself so much already.”

“You’ve done so in no way that would not be good for me. The dwarves as a whole have many faults that we would do well to get rid of. Were I to safeguard them with all my will, I could not be with you, and that is more important than the culture of my ancestors.”

Little consolation in that. But if he was willing to do that, she would let him. In the end, she benefitted from it.

“Please be careful,” he murmured quietly, loosely grasping one hand. “Kíli is in charge. Listen to him. And do not wander Thranduil’s halls. They are trickier than Erebor.”

If they felt anything like the rest of the forest, she would not dare leave Kíli’s side. “I’m not pissing off Thranduil. Wood elves make me uneasy anyway.”

“You have good instincts, and they will keep you alive in there.”

She barked. Despite the city being an underground system, Thorin obviously found their depths confining after his imprisonment there. She had no doubt each step that he had been forced to make in there since then had been prodded with a hot iron. “If Bilbo could find his way, I think I’m good.”

He nodded. “Yes, right. I suppose so.”

She reached over and kissed his nose, smiling into his bright eyes. “I’ll do something productive for Erebor while I’m there. How about that?”

He lifted a brow. “Like?”

“I don’t know, but something will come up, I’m sure. Don’t you imagine the elves would be keener to work with somebody who they have more in common with than with _dwarves_?”

“Are you saying I should make _you_ ambassador?”

“Think about what Kíli and me could accomplish together.”

He did not respond. He just stared at the papers he shuffled on his desk once more with wide, unsettled eyes. When the corners of his lips twitched, she huffed and pushed his shoulder as she turned for the door.

“Arse.”

His sonorous laugh chased her out of the room.

                   *****************************

Kíli, of course, was absolutely ecstatic when met with the news of his newest promotion, as he saw it, though it did not exceed any of his other duties in importance. When facing Thorin while receiving his latest instructions, he looked the picture of the maturing young dwarf he truly was, and as he and Cori walked away to begin plans for the mission, Cori caught a glimmer of pride in Thorin’s smile. However, as soon as doors were closed, Cori was attacked. For five minutes, she endured the severe battering to her insides as a fully-frown dwarf swiftly approaching his prime years squeezed her as if he wrung a piece of fruit for juice. The sheer joy sparkling in his eyes made for sufficient recompense to the damage. How could it be possible for someone who embodied happiness to somehow exude _more_ happiness? Kíli, son of Dís, had a mind to be the best at everything he was, a mentality that would conduct him as ambassador of Erebor, and Thorin would wonder why he did not make the change sooner.

And Cori would poke at him about it for as long as she could since she had seen the advantages while he worried about particulars.

“Of course,” Kíli said with a roll of his eyes when she told him that Thorin knew about Tauriel. “And he didn’t mention anything about it to me. Probably hoping it would fade from my mind. Wonder how he’d feel if I hid all your letters from him.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. If I didn’t have Crome as a bird’s eye-witness, that would come back on me.”

He sighed heavily.

“He wasn’t being cruel. He’s just an old dwarf born into ancient tradition. By the way, I raked him over the coals for it and I intend to do more later. He should have been more attuned to your moods. I mean, shite, I noticed it and I’ve only spent all of ten months in your presence. He’s got to try harder.”

Kíli chuckled at her. “He’s not negligent.”

“That’s the bare minimum. If he’s going to take on the role of a father for you two, he can’t pick and choose what he does. He’s got to commit to it all.”

“You’d think, out of both of us, I would be more bothered by it.”

“It’s not your fault you lost your da. You deserve to have the full experience.”

“If you’re worried about him being a good father to your own kids, you shouldn’t be. That I can tell you in full confidence.”

“I didn’t doubt him, especially with his own children. By the way, what’s your fascination with our nonexistent babies anyway?”

He reached up and pinched the tip of her nose, retreating before she could retaliate. “I’m excited about a bunch of mini you's wandering around.”

She frowned, her nose twitching at the assault. At least somebody was.

In the two days that the assembly spent in preparation for the trip, they drew up a full list of grievances to present before the Elvenking. After reading the entire document, Cori wondered how Thorin could justify not declaring war to a mountain full of warriors. And he was preparing for retaliation, right? Because Thranduil would not take these accusations lightly. Poor Kíli looked terrified. However, the aged elf did not make a habit of picking fights. He was purposeful. There was a reason he demanded such high taxes and held innocent dwarves prisoner; he would not lower himself to pettiness. This situation would be solved strategically and without hot blood.

The day of departure was a brisk one. Shadow, invigorated by the cold, danced around impatiently, annoying the soldier standing at his head. Cori made her goodbyes short as the company of guards and fellow officials mounted their own ponies. When she came to Thorin, however, she earned a tug of anxiety in her chest. That one night she spent away from him in Dale was nothing compared to what they were about to experience; they had not been separated for so long since she arrived to Erebor, and it would take its toll quickly. Her irritation with him meant little when she faced three weeks without his presence. “You will freeze at night,” he teased as he watched her pack the warmest clothes she owned into her bag. She did not doubt it after sleeping tightly wound around his heated body. He might notice a missing tunic in the next couple of days.

“Please refrain from acting on any sudden infatuations with the elves while you’re there, and come back.” His stance remained solid while the gazes of his soldiers were on him, but his eyes were vulnerable.

“I’ve informed Kíli to drag me back, even if I’m rambling mad and kicking. He won’t leave without me.”

He nodded. “Good.” The kiss he bestowed on her was chaste, safe for the public scene they were in, and it was enough. He made sure to give her something to dwell on these next few weeks before they left their chambers, and she was sure the cold was only partly responsible for the pink stain still clinging to her cheeks. She, however, snuck in an inappropriate beard stroke before she turned to haul herself into the saddle. When she looked back, she found sickening sweetness in his face instead of the lust she expected, and three weeks suddenly felt like two years all over again.

“In your service to the kingdom of Erebor,” Thorin called out to the group, catching eyes with each one of them, “may Mahal grant you safe passage there and back. And may your efforts be prosperous to Durin’s folk.”

Right before the company turned to set out, Nori appeared at her side, sliding a piece of paper across her leg and into her hand. “Sharp eyes and light feet, sweets.”

She narrowed her eyes in question, staring at the piece of paper in her hand; did he suspect anyone in Mirkwood was behind the attacks? But he had disappeared into the farewell party before she could make any inquiries, and Kíli was already parading out of the gates. _Covering all bases,_ she thought as she urged Shadow into a trot to catch up. It definitely would not hurt to search within the long-standing rivalry of the two races. She still felt uneasy from Nori’s comment about Thorin using himself as bait to catch the perpetrator.

Blue sky above and cool air in her lungs, Cori was cleansed.

The last time she set out from Erebor to Mirkwood, snow threatened to cover them in their sleep while they shivered in the early December wind. It was warmer in the Shire this time of the year. The corn came into harvest, and the hobbits prepared for the festivities that accompanied it. The apple trees she planted next to her little hut should have been ripe for picking, since they bloomed abundantly; her family and Lizzie had express permission to take from it. Barbarella might have stuffed them into pies; Dugon made excellent smoked chicken from them. Autumn was so busy for her family, but it was the whirlwind of excitement she remembered more so than the work they endured.

Her mind flowed freely out here, where it had inspiration to draw from rather than a blank slate.

Another deviation: this journey with dwarves commenced in optimism. As expected, no one could go for very long without pouting about their destination and their impending hosts, but the blade-sharpening was all the same, as if they were going to fight a believed invasion of orcs and love every second of it. The ringing sound of stones against metal was so familiar that Cori easily tuned it out while quietly attending her own weapons. In fact, she was immersed in the whole process while Kíli assisted in restringing her bow.

 _So very close,_ she thought as she looked around at the fire-lit hairy faces surrounding her the first night out. Then she berated herself. _You’ve never had this much trouble letting go of the past. Look where you’re at and stay there, you visionary._

In the end, the task demanded little effort. Her little company from three years ago had been cold to her from the start, though that was partly unfamiliarity manifesting in the usual way it did with dwarves. This group was not cruel, but they knew her, or they knew _one thing_ about her that they did not like, so naturally, she garnered little favor from any of her numerous other traits (it took a special person to like them anyway, and the only one in that moment was Kíli). Funny. She received the same looks from a tired, defeated army after they just learned she was responsible for the deaths of many of their kin. Who had she killed this time?

 _Wait and see,_ she thought, which rather sounded like a gruff, guttural voice in her head that could have come from any hairy mouth there. She suppressed a snicker.

As if their egos could not inflate any more, Kíli’s rousing speeches bolstered their confidence in collecting their kin and taking back their “freedom” from the elf. Morale was good. Morale kept everyone alive, because nobody _wanted_ to die. However, such efforts ignited thoughts of superiority, and as much as the dwarves respected Durin’s heirs, Kíli could expect to actually defend elves during their visit if he kept up the shouting.

Strategies fired back and forth for at least an hour as the group finished their evening meal. Creativity abounded; little wonder the dwarves made such fine crafts, when they distributed that inventiveness in a different way. When it came to the majority of them favoring the theft of the Elvenking’s crown in exchange for their soldiers, Cori just rolled her eyes as she nibbled on the venison in her warm stew.

“Does the lass have something to say?”

She lifted her gaze. The dwarf directly across from her eyed her with a cock of his head, anticipating her response and probably summoning up all the ways he could completely negate his question by forcing her into silence. A few stray chuckles wafted throughout the whole group. Kíli was prepared to say something, his brow knitted with indignation, but he learned.

“I’m not surprised I don’t,” she replied, returning her attention to her food, for which she received sparse compliments. “I’ve said all I need to say about dwarven blood lust.”

Nothing made a sound by the crackling fire. Cori caught a squirrel rustling in some dying leaves in a tree cluster near the River Running. A premonition: she would be buried like the nuts that squirrel placed in the ground. She grinned even more.

“You’ve said nothing, halfling,” came another voice, and the tension thickened in the deathly silence.

“Once, I said plenty. Your prince knows how I detested dwarves. Nothing but warmongerers perpetually washing the blood from their hands, weapons, and armor.”

This was needless taunting. She played with fire, and judging by the looks on her, not even her ashes would be left afterward. She had no idea what she was doing, but censoring one’s words often led to misunderstandings. They would hear the truth about her. She had to speak their language, and make them see _her._

“You’re angry, but isn’t that what you want the world to see? It’s easy. No one bothers you when they think you’re going to run a spear through them if they so much as look at you. And cheers to you all for accomplishing that, because essentially everyone from my home thinks that way. They also think you eat raw meat and beat your wives.”

A chorus of curses in Khuzdul rose up, and the eyes trained on her sharpened into fresh blades. Cori smirked.

“Know what you’re doing?” Kíli murmured into her ear, which indicated that she may have done a real bad. “I’m not sure if this furthers trade with the Shire.”

“Wait.” After all she had done to resurrect and preserve the Shire, she certainly would not bring down the wrath of the dwarves on them.

“What ye playin’ at, girl?” another dwarf growled, he and the rest of them clearly unaffected by the potential consequences brought down on them directly from the king. Good. They could not understand her if they shied away from her brawny shadow. “If ye want to insult as fer bein’ who we are, ye better come out ‘n say it.”

She shook her head. “Can’t do that. Insult you, I mean. If I snub you with something that isn’t true, then I’m just petty. And none of it’s true, what they think of you. What _I_ used to think of you. I imagined that your taste for battle and your blatant disrespect for others was amusement for your bored, deprived lives in your caves. I partly thought that way because of my upbringing: to hobbit children, you all are shady vagabonds with unkempt beards ready to snatch up the unsuspecting into your knapsacks. Embellishment, of course. You gotta put the fear of the Valar into faunts or they’ll trample you. Trust me, I was _that_ child.”

Surprisingly, she received a few laughs.

“But I lived among you for a time. Some of you may have heard of me. I floated around the Blue Mountains peddling my skins for a silver piece or two. You may not have seen me. I tended to watch from afar. And I looked, I promise you. I didn’t see the dirty vagrants of my childhood: you’re the cleanest damn bunch I ever met, and you’re picky about your meat cooked just right, and you’re the sappiest saps this side of the Misty Mountains for your families. I wasn’t satisfied, but at least I deduced from my own observations instead of relying on others to tell me how to think.”

“How did you come to your conclusions?” a younger dwarf asked from his spot on Kíli’s other side. A friend of his. The three of them kept up polite chatter through most of the days’ rides.

“I still saw needless brutality in your training, and how you jumped at every chance to brawl. All I did was see, though I can’t necessarily say that was _all_ my fault. Your kin barred me from asking questions, getting involved in your festivities, until I was nothing but my furs to them. And after I left my home with a feeling of not belonging, well, the rejection didn’t feel too good.”

“Then?” Kíli waggled his eyebrows.

“Then I spent several months sharing a campfire with your king, princes, and some of the finest specimens of the dwarven race I’ve ever come to know. And while I haven’t yet understood why you chose to what you do, I know it’s for a reason. When the world pelts you with the worst it has to offer, shields are a mighty handy thing.”

Silence reigned, but not with the same suffocating tension as before. Eyes were everywhere but on her. The fire popped loudly, accompanied by the occasional rustle of a shifting leg or arm. Kíli beamed at her. He lost the cautioning glare in his eyes.

“I know what you lot of have been saying about me,” she continued. “And I’ve heard it all before. ‘Can’t trust her,’ ‘she’s got magic on her.’ If anything, I’m disappointed. You couldn’t be more creative than that?”

“Maybe you should’ve taken the hint,” said the first dwarf that addressed her moments early, cutting off the chuckles of the group. He had not lost that deep cleft in his brow and the steel in his limbs.

She shrugged. “I’m starting to think that. Maybe so. But I’ve let the muttering from my own kin run off my back for many years. I’ll sooner jump in the river before I actually let talk give me a fright. And I’m definitely not a creature of the water. So keep talking. You’ve all got the right to your own opinions, and nobody can tell you otherwise. Not even the king. Just know that the only persuasion I’ll listen to is the call of death from a sword through my gut.”

Was it so wise to give them that invitation? About as wise as taunting death by skittering through enemy lines or walking into an unstable mine. But if the road taught her anything, it was that there was more out there that wanted to see her dead than alive. Sometimes, it was worth braving the things that wanted to kill her.

Apparently, they did not. Or at least not at the moment, though Kíli’s presence probably quelled a few tempers enough not to let axes fly. She would see the difference the next time she was alone with any of them. Again, she was at the mercy of dwarves, just as she had been on her trip with Iren’s men through the Misty Mountains; if they wanted to get rid of her, they needed only to blame nature in order to see to their innocence. No one would question her disappearance in the Woodland Realm either. So far, after several nights lying next to her as she slept, nothing had come of their distaste for her. They might still give her a chance. Would she banish the mistrust by opening her heart, just as she did with Thorin?

If they actually learned something from her speech, they did not let it manifest immediately. After a few more moments of what she assumed to be reflection, they scattered to set up their bed rolls for the night. None looked at her again. She would take it; they did not stare at her, waiting for the instance that she would strike.

Kíli, however, openly studied her even as she made to clear the cook pot cooling next to the fire. It amused his friend, who chuckled when she silently inquired after the prince’s mind. Once the dwarf left to accompany the others to bed, Kíli snorted. “You mad girl.”

She glared. “We established that already. Years ago. You’re not creative either.”

He lifted his hands. “You know what? I trust you. You might get yourself into a lot of trouble, but I haven’t seen anyone so efficient at pulling themselves out of the hole they dug than you.”

“Come on. I’m a hobbit. We dig holes, and we make art out of them. Not so much different from dwarves after all, huh?”

If she spoke loud enough for her words to carry over the fire, then maybe that was where they needed to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals are in 2 weeks, and I've written all but one of my papers (which isn't actually a paper, it's a short story for my creative writing class, so I left the fun stuff for last). Stuff's about to kick off in the next chapter I write, which is about three chapters ahead of this one. I wanted to get this story done before the end of the year, and I'm definitely going to cut it close, but once finals are done, I'm blasting off with this thing. I'm gonna do it.  
> If you're still here, you get a cookie. You can't eat it, but it's from my heart, so remember that. See you later! <3


	14. Elves

When the raven emerged from the thick canopy of Mirkwood, she was not alone. No sooner had she lighted on Kíli’s arm to stare into his eyes like a captivated admirer (Cori still thought talking with birds was a strange ability for a royal family) then the colorful shrubbery at the edge of the forest parted at the behest of a group of elves. This was to be their escort to the halls of the Elvenking.

Everybody was sour.

“What do you want?” the leader of the elven squadron barked as sharply as his silky voice could muster. Despite the beauty in his appearances, a distinct frown pulled his lips down. The rest of his troop looked the same. Cori hid her grin in her scarf. They hardly appeared as if they had just trekked miles through the forest to greet dwarves. Rather, they were reminiscent of hobbits who found the ringing of the doorbell particularly nettlesome that day. The exasperation became worse when it was somebody they were not fond of.

“We’re here on official business from King Thorin of Erebor,” Kíli replied, calmly standing at the head of his puffy and irritable guard and staffers. “Thorin sent a note a few days ago announcing our arrival.”

The elves boasted more weapons than Cori had seen on Mirkwood patrols before. They clearly expected more fire than the dwarf prince quietly asking for an audience with the king. They had been waiting for retaliation.

“We weren’t told,” the elf responded, glaring down his nose at the small bunch in front of him.

Kíli fished briefly in his jacket, producing a folded letter and holding it out. The leader stepped forward and took it, eyes scanning the page swiftly. Cori glanced around him from her position next to the prince, immediately catching eyes with the other three scouts that accompanied him out of the bush. She smiled despite the uneasy knot in her stomach their grimaces gave her. To her surprise, they each smiled back at her, entirely unaffected at seeing her there, and swiftly restored the coarseness to their gentle faces once they returned their attention to the dwarves.

 _At least they know there’s some pleasant company mixed into this rabble,_ she thought as she chanced a glimpse at her companions attempting and succeeding to roast their challengers with their eyes.

The lead elf abruptly folded the paper and extended it back to Kíli. “If you step into the forest, we’ll have your weapons.”

“We wish to discuss business,” Kíli replied, holding his hand up to curb the surge of dwarven temper rushing up behind him. They stopped as if they hit a physical wall. “We don’t want conflict. Though I haven’t returned in years, I know that the forest isn’t safe to wander in unarmed. We’d like to be able to defend ourselves until we reach the gates of Thranduil’s halls. There, we will cooperate, if it is necessary to take our things.”

The elf was confused. The moderate civility of the dwarves was most unexpected, obviously ( _and who’s to blame for that_?). But the hard angles in his face stayed put. “That is not my decision to make. Hand over your weapons, or turn back.”

“It is mine, though.”

The shrubs had not even announced her presence, though the bright red hair of this elf should have stood out like a ruby in the Shire. Her steps were silent as she approached the group, crisp eyes surveying the scene with calculated composure. The other elves acknowledged her with a bow of the head. She held a steep position in the complicated veins of elvish hierarchy, then. But of course, if she could make the decisions.

In her peripheral sight, Cori noticed Kíli stand up straighter. When she glanced over at his face, his eyes were wider than the hooves of Men’s horses. She bit her cheek to suppress a grin. _Oh. It had to be her, didn’t it, laddie_?

Thorin’s words echoed in her head: the girl’s suitability for the young prince hinged on her character. As far as Cori was concerned, she had little room to be judging anyone’s character, especially when her lacking qualities had been so graciously overlooked. So far, she approved.

The two elves had a quick debate in that fluid tongue of theirs, sparing occasional glances at the company as if they were not aware of the mounting danger. Cori feared the dwarves would completely disregard Kíli’s authority and take matters into their own hands, which she would be powerless to stop because that would require her to throw herself onto the ax. However, in the end, the word of the she-elf surpassed all opposition, and he turned away with the most elegant pout Cori had ever witnessed.

“You all may keep your weapons,” Tauriel explained. “There are to be none on your person when in the presence of the king.”

“Understood,” rosy-cheeked Kíli responded quickly, and with surprising professionalism. Thorin had certainly whipped him into shape; he would undoubtedly be bouncing on his toes otherwise. The lad showed excitement in his body like a pup that could finally do more than totter around.

With the redhead in the lead, the motley group began their descent into the forest.

The full weight of the foul air pressed onto Cori’s shoulders only a little ways passed the boundary, and the hair on her neck promptly stood up. Walking in between the trees on the road was one thing: at least the leaves parted just enough to let a small sliver of the open sky through. But every tale of Mirkwood that she could remember picking up through her travels warned against the dangers that lurked beyond the marked paths. She had unintentionally done it once before, and thank Yavanna for her swain going after her despite his aversion to her at the time, or the rotting vegetation of that Valar-forsaken place would have swallowed her up for good. Her body remembered how her mind rebelled and made her follow hallucinations into the bush, as if the warnings were merely discussions about the weather. She wanted to hold Kíli’s coat, just in case it happened again.

While she fretted about the imaginary and not-so-illusory symptoms of the dying wood, the young prince glowed like a summer sun at noon. Though they said nothing beyond Kíli’s affirmation of the rules, he and the she-elf were compelled to walk next to each other, and no one dared to open their mouth about it. The forest might not have affected him, for all that bounce and focus in his step.

 _You blind fool,_ she thought, picturing all the ways she would sneak in an “I told you so” when she returned to the king.

They walked for the rest of the day and, after the elves proclaimed that they were not far from the gates, they kept going in the dark. The narrow path they walked was clear, and their guides seemed to reflect moonlight that was not there, but Kíli grabbed Cori’s hand anyway and tugged her closer to his side.

“No spiders anymore, right?” She stretched her head to peer at Tauriel around the dwarf’s nose.

“They have been driven off,” she replied, her eyes flickering down toward their hands.

Kíli shook his head. “That’s not all that’s out there. I’m not taking any chances. I have a _lot_ of people who will roast my hide if I let something happen to you, myself included.”

“I’m flattered that you’d want to take a romantic stroll through the dark woods with me, lad, but I don’t think anything’s going to get close enough before _someone_ hears it, citing present company. At any rate, you’re warm, so I’ll oblige. Think you’d care to heat up my bed before I go to sleep while I’m deprived of your uncle?”

He immediately let go, glaring at her with said dwarf’s terrifying stare.

She snickered, ruffling his hair as best as her short arms could reach. “Then you better find _somewhere else_ to sleep.”

His elbow found her gut, and she lost the rest of her air when she burst into a muted laugh. _What were you thinking, telling me your darkest secrets?_

Their observant green-eyed audience pretended not to be listening, but she was perplexed, and Cori noticed. This elf displayed unobstructed emotion rather than the aloofness best used by the rest of her kind. Cori might have guessed it was youthful carelessness, but what elf looked _old?_ Still, she studied the dwarves and the hobbit with curiosity rather than the haughty disdain of her companions. Was there any doubt that she shared Kíli’s desires when she tried to look at him as much as she could without anyone noticing, including the prince?

By the time they reached the gate and stepped into the torchlight coming from two braziers on either side of the door, Cori yawned every few minutes. It was only the chill seeping into her clothes that kept her going. As they drew nearer, the gate swung wide open, two elves pushing it from the inside. She gave little thought to how they knew they were there. Inside, more torches flickered off the walls as they passed into a long tunnel.

Big mistake, she thought immediately. Such a bad choice. She nearly turned right around and marched back out into that vile excuse for a forest because it was not _another cave._

Further in, though, she noticed the beams of moonlight that cast down in between the stone pillars and gigantic tree roots twisting around the cavernous space. Grass did not grow, but moss clung to the damp rock. Somehow, she expected the Halls of Thranduil to open up into the forest a little more; these were elves, after all, who still had a connection to nature. It was lit just the same way that parts of Erebor were. But signs of life sprang up where one well versed in flora might count it impossible. This was not Rivendell, but an ethereal aura hummed in the fresh air.

Cori was still uneasy.

It was there, just like in the Lonely Mountain. In the middle of the expansive chasm stretching deep beneath whatever hill this had been carved beneath was a seat. She could not see if anyone sat on it, though it was obvious who would. That did not matter. She felt the eyes anyway, wherever they were coming from.

Tauriel informed them that accommodations had been arranged for the company despite what the other elf said. She gave him a scolding glare; Cori wanted to applaud him for at least _trying_ , because it was a valiant effort with valid motivation. Any meeting with the king would have to wait until the next morning, as he had already retired for the night. The dwarves separated into a pair per room in the same well-lit hallway, and Kíli insisted that Cori bunk with him. However, as she trailed behind him and Tauriel, who picked up a small flirting game now that eyes were not on them, she prepared to be alone for most of the night; the prince was obviously welcome elsewhere, too.

She could not stop smiling as she watched him wash and dress for the night, entranced and beaming. The moment she turned her back to him to make for the washroom to change her own clothes, a cage of strong arms enclosed her and a hairy chin nestled into the crook of her neck. As quick as they had come, they disappeared with a farewell of a kiss to the cheek and a whispered “thank you” in her ear. If she had some way to capture the joy bursting from the boy, like in a drawing, she wished awfully that she knew it.

Every dubious circumstance had a delicious filling.

                *************************

The grouchy morning dwarves who refused to sleep at all in their generous, comfortable lodgings would bring down the wrath of King Thranduil onto all seven clans. Cori feared for the hobbits by virtue of association.

“There was something about you being there while I slept,” Kíli explained his more agreeable mood as they watched the dwarves pick at their weapons outside the door that opened toward the path leading up to the throne. “Even if we weren’t side-by-side. I don’t think you ever noticed on the quest how I tried to sleep close to you every night, before Thorin stole you away.”

“I did.” She had never been without some cocoon of warmth as they ventured throughout the West. She assumed the lads’ habit of settling down next to her was some kind of safety precaution.

“You always slept restfully,” he continued, “even if you had a nightmare. Some hobbit recuperation ability or whatnot. Anyway, I figured it might rub off on me.”

“You still dream?” she asked, thinking of the many nights she would wake to Fíli with his head pressed to his brother’s, murmuring softly as the other caught his breath. Thorin’s eyes would shine helplessly in the failing light of the fire before he lay back down to allow them their moment.

“Yeah. You always do, I think, when you’ve seen what we have. Thorin still does, I know. I’d catch him pacing up and down the hall when I returned from the tavern late at night, hours after he’d said he’d gone to bed. I know that look on his face. I’ve seen it as long as I could remember.”

Thorin occasionally jolted her awake after abruptly surfacing from _kurzr ald azaghal,_ or warrior’s curse, as the dwarves called it. He would quietly stare at the ceiling for a few moments afterward, arm wrapped tightly around her waist and holding her almost painfully against his side. Then he would kiss her and close his eyes, drifting off quickly with a weary but untroubled expression. They had gotten easier, he claimed, and less frequent, since she filled the other side of the bed.

“Fíli tries, you know,” he mumbled quietly, turning his back to the group of grumbling soldiers and officials nearby. “He helps a lot; he’s better at dealing with it. But with Tira now, I know he can’t be there every time. It’s taken some getting used to, having her around.”

 _And Fíli’s attention divided from you._ Kíli dealt with change less smoothly than his brother. Fíli adapted, as a good king should. The younger prince tried, but he seemed to scramble to keep up. He was restless in their new home, without his brother to pal around with all the time. No wonder he allowed her to appeal to Thorin for this new position in his stead.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t go to him, or anyone else for that matter. Anytime you need to, you know I’ll be there.”

He wrapped himself around her, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “I always knew I could. You remedy vexation just as good as Amad does. You brought dwarves and hobbits together to fight. You should really take up some kind of peacekeeper position. We’d never have to go to war again.”

“Are you kidding?” She pulled away. “I cause more conflict unintentionally than I solve anything. I’ve got a whole kingdom miffed about me.”

“But we all have full confidence that you can solve it. Look at you now, putting your life on the line to free our people. What do you think that’s going to look like back home?”

“When this goes wrong, it’s going to look like I’ve cursed Durin’s folk more than any gold could ever achieve.”

“Then people will know how mighty hobbits are. I see a win in every scenario here.”

“You always do.” There was also the possibility that the dwarves would form a rivalry with the hobbits in the same way they did the elves. The hobbits would never come close to holding their own against the dwarves like the elves did. Again, she feared what the wrath of the dwarves would bring to the presently-feeble Shire if she made a misstep. How freeing it must be to think optimistically about everything like Kíli did. Where were the lessons on doing that?

When the doors opened, Kíli, following the directions of a guard, led the small group of five ambassadors into the cavern and up the pathway toward the council room. The king eagerly awaited them, according to the elves. That bode ill. Those posted at the doors to the chamber scrutinized her as if she were on a leash at the prince’s side. She considered growling at them, but elves appreciated humor at a disappointingly low level.

Council in the Woodland Realm was a lot more scenic than the straight, bland walls of Erebor’s stuffy room. Four tall windows opened up on the far side of the room to let the mid-morning sunlight in. The roots of trees crept in through holes in the ceiling (or the stone had been carved around them) and curled about the floor in gnarled twists. Cori wondered which side of the mountain that opened to, resisting the urge to run up and check for any cheering sights. Despite the lively visual to the room, there was a certain uneasiness that crawled into her stomach and settled down heavily. Not at all pleasing to a hobbit; in fact, the thick air made her sick.

“You’ve surprised me.”

The general scrutiny that had encompassed a sizable portion of the room at once shifted to the tall chair sitting in front of the largest window shaped by two narrow, twisted trees breaking through the ceiling. Thranduil, alone, studied the group as they encroached further, standing by the fireplace.

“How so, my lord?” inquired Kíli. Unlike his followers, and certainly not the picture that his king would have presented, he was entirely composed as he met eyes with the elf.

Thranduil did not grin, but the set of his face was softer than the angles of its structure allowed. He stared straight at Cori before nodding to Kíli. “I expected an appearance by your uncle, young prince. Perhaps I have not roused his temperament as I thought I would.”

Cori jumped in before Kíli could respond. “Perhaps you misinterpreted his character.” His response would tell her how the rest of this meeting would proceed.

One brow rose. Then he nodded. “I have been wrong about Thorin Oakenshield in the past, _perian._ Who better but you to determine the mind of the King Under the Mountain?”

“Exactly.”

“You should take this as a sign, elf,” one of the dwarves hovering close behind her called over her head. “King Thorin sends the prince and a halfling to rendezvous. Your threats are idle.”

“Enough, Uran,” Kíli clipped quickly. “He is still king, and has opened up his home to us. We should be respectful.” He turned back to the elf, head tilted just slightly. “So long as we have his respect.”

Thranduil rose from his seat, linking his hands together behind his back as he ambled the floor in front of them. “You’ve had it,” he replied. “My respect, up until recently. You have proven yourselves more compliant and poised neighbors than I have had the pleasure of knowing in the past. At least from your mountain.”

“He dares insult the—” The objection cut short, but the tension pressed thickly onto the envoy.

“What changed?” Kíli asked.

“Your people showed me insult when they refused to comply with the laws of _my_ land. The punishment is fitting for the crime.”

“May we sit?”

Cori would absolutely be gushing to Thorin about his second heir’s performance. Kíli had a more level head than Fíli displayed in the past. Where had this maturity come from all of a sudden?

Thranduil did not acknowledge it as she would have. “We will convene as we are.”

“I wish to speak on equal terms.”

“If justice will be served to the accused on your own terms.”

“They broke no dwarven laws.”

“Then we shall remain.”

The rest of the party shuffled restlessly; the irritation seeped through Cori’s back. The Elvenking’s reputation adequately represented him, and she wondered if humility even existed in Middle-earth.

Kíli drew in a breath. “We will pay the toll that the caravan did not, after we negotiate and compromise on a fair amount.”

“The road is part of the Woodland Realm.”

“It is. You keep it clear and you protect travelers from the forest. For that, we owe you a toll. That payment is our alliance. Think about it. We bring in trade from the West, which we exchange with Dale and Esgaroth. A small portion of our supply goes to you, though you primarily trade with the men. However, out of the two of us, Dale trades more with Erebor than the Woodland Realm. Were trade with the Blue Mountains to halt, Dale would not be able to maintain itself so prosperously, and could not trade with you at the market price you do now. You would lose profit, and possibly an ally. Prohibit us from exchanging with our kin in the West, and you lose the alliance with the dwarves as well. I propose a complete disintegration of the extra toll altogether.”

Thranduil and the dwarves were silent, and Cori blinked at her friend. _You beautiful lad. Where will you take your kingdom_?

Thranduil hardly looked fazed, but how much emotion would an elf like him allow on display? “These are the words of King Thorin?”

“They are my words, which he trusted me to speak. My first proposal, of course. It is still up for negotiation, though the bargain would have to be hard to convince me to change it.”

He nodded. Then he turned his gaze back to Cori. “Why the halfling?”           Kíli, perceptive to her annoyance with the word, finally broke poise. However, she would not allow him to completely demolish his argument through his stalwart and entirely charming defense of her. “If you weren’t aware, my lord, Erebor assisted with the reconstruction of the Shire after the attack from Ryone of Rohan these past couple of years.”

He humored her; it certainly would be bigger news than her involvement with Thorin. “I was aware.”

“Without the donations from the Lonely Mountain, the hobbits would still be struggling to rebuild their houses and acquire enough food for all to survive the winter. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here. I am a show of good faith that Erebor is loyal and that their endeavors help not only their own people, but the rest of Middle-earth.”

He lifted a brow. “You are representing the dwarves now?”

“The dwarves choose their representatives. I’m merely introducing myself to my new neighbor in hopes of kindling a strong relationship.”

Silence thickened the air behind her. There were no protests.

Even more perplexing, the elf cracked a small smile. “Well met, then. I look forward to knowing you further during my meeting tomorrow with Prince Kíli.”

It was as much of an invitation as she had ever heard. “Likewise.”

“Thank you, Lord Thranduil,” Kíli bid through gritted teeth, placing a hand on her back as he turned the group around.

“By the way,” the elf called out just as the door swung open from the outside, “I would encourage you to keep an eye on those you look to for representation.”

“Why’s that?” Kíli asked, his irritation finally bleeding through the mask of civility.

“I received a proposal not too long ago from a number of individuals acting in the name of King Thorin. They presented a document that would relinquish a store of steel to the Woodland Realm for half the price agreed upon in the original peace clause in exchange for a renewed agreement of alliance with new specifications. Essentially, I would uphold my friendship with Erebor under change of hand.”

Cori’s chest squeeze. “Under a new ruler?”

He nodded once. “In the past, I only had to do so when a new king took the throne.”

“There will not be a new king for many years to come,” Kíli asserted.

“It did not have Thorin’s seal, and when I asked about it, they claimed that he would sign it once he had my signature. I refused. Clearly, you have not heard about it, so my choice was right. Had I names, I would give them to you. Again, caution.”

Cori’s head spun as the hand on her waist guided her back out into the cavern. Instantly, a wave of nausea rolled in her stomach; did the fortress not keep the influence of the forest out? The paranoia gnawed at the edges of her mind. Or had she just come to realize what stared her in the face this whole time?

“Kíli, somebody’s trying to murder Thorin.”

“They have been for months,” he growled beneath his breath, teeth audibly grinding.

“What’s he done?” She swallowed thickly, wishing with all of her being that she was back in the Lonely Mountain. She needed the one spot of air in that dark cave, and she regretted leaving him. Something would happen before they got back. She just knew it.

“He is king, Cori.” Kíli’s voice was flat. He used such a tactic to cover up his anxiety. “Nobody with that title is safe. Ever. Neither is prince. Or queen. It’s just the game we play, whether we like it or not.”

Before her thoughts insisted on turning down their usual dark paths, she recalled all those who pledged unbending loyalty to him. His company was there. Dwalin was there. He would not allow anything to happen to his king and comrade. She had to trust in her friend.

What would she be able to do if she were there anyway?

Post-supper, she and Kíli sat and talked. He brought up her family, asking for any particulars about her little faunt army from the past two years. She was glad to talk about them. The distraction was welcome, and once again, the young prince proved himself an excellent analyst of her mood. It helped him, too. He was jittery, unable to sit still the entire time with a leg bouncing as his outlet. Finally, when the hour drew late, he disappeared into the halls after she insisted that she would be fine on her own. He did not have to say where he was going, and she certainly would not be the one to keep him. He had a big day tomorrow, and he needed the clear head.

She wanted to attempt for one before bed. At least something that would tire her out enough to let her get to sleep before the unwanted images of Thorin imprinted on the backs of her eyelids and transferred into her dreams. Lantern in hand, she ventured out to find the library of the Elvenking’s halls.

A myriad of paths intertwined through the cavern, but only a complete imbecile could get lost. Everywhere the paths led was wide open. She could not mistake the giant ceiling-high bookshelf almost dangling over the edge of a chasm. It was quite fascinating how light traveled through despite coming from a number of torches hanging on the walls. She was not as unsettled about traversing a walkway that had no railings and dipped down into a dark pit. After pushing up an incline, she stood in front of a curved double door. The handle was unlocked when she tested it, and the door crawled open soundlessly.

Before her was a library that not even Imladris could stand up to.

The rows upon rows of shelves laden with scripts melted into the darkness where torchlight did not penetrate. Still, she could detect the scope of the room, and if she were to get turned around anywhere, it would be in there. To avoid that, she decided not to stray too far from the door and collect some light reading from one of the first few shelves. As much as she loved perusing the contents of ancient libraries, reading guaranteed a quick descent into sleep. A perfectly comfortable chair and table was nestled in the corner of the room not too far away.

She rounded the first turn to the second row and nearly fell back on her arse. A curse left her lips, one with certain connotations concerning her benevolent hosts, before she could keep it in. Trust a slip of the tongue to happen right in front of the king of them, too.

Thranduil, gliding across the floor as if he had no feet beneath the train of his cloak, smiled down at her from his tilted face. So that was why the door was unlocked. “What do you seek, Miss Houndberry? What could my library possibly offer you?”

When he first spoke, she felt the childish shame of being caught with a hand on the iced cakes plate. But there was no reproach or judgment in the way he looked at her. Just that cold disinterest that nagged at her last nerve. “Not something a single book can answer.”

He nodded, glancing around as if there was something in the air he could see. “I do not believe you will find such an answer in here, then.”

“Well, it takes a clear head to know where to start.”

A soft noise hummed in his chest. “Yes, that’s a common approach for some who come here. You are more than welcome to ponder the silent air for the miracle solution you are looking for.”

She glared at him. No wonder he and Thorin got on so well. Two peas in a pod. “What does your bottomless elf wisdom tell me I should do?”

“You should listen to the proposal I’m about to offer you if you wish for tomorrow’s meeting with Prince Kíli to run as smoothly as you expected when you arrived in my home.”

“Sounds an awful lot like a threat and blackmail. Can’t I call that an act of war or something?”

“Do you truly want to be at war with two different forces at the same time, _perian_?”

She did not like the self-satisfied incline of his head.

“I meant what I said,” he replied, pacing past her and into the open antechamber in front of the door. “Thorin Oakenshield has been an honorable ally in the years he has held the mountain, putting aside the limitless demands he expects me to fulfill. And I will uphold the peace agreement we have. Somebody wants him dead, and has taken great measure to see that it happens. I have no reason to refuse to step in.”

“What do you know?” If he held answers this whole time, she would make sure his silence came back to bite him.

Thranduil chuckled. “A queen among dwarves,” he murmured softly, taking no care to obscure it from her ears. “I do not possess the information you truly want. I have neither names nor motives. Still, I suspect you might be interested in the other dwarves in my dungeons.”

“If they have nothing to do with what’s going on in Erebor, I don’t care.”

“But there lies the problem. I do not know if they do. Thus, as I have vowed to assist the dwarves, I cannot do anything with the prisoners unless I know they have no value to King Thorin.”

“Here’s a thought: ask.”

She received a cold smirk. “From that, I stand to gain nothing but another empty reassurance of stronger allegiance from Erebor that I do not need. I can have something more worthwhile to me, and you will help me get it.”

“Will I?”

He nodded once. “Yes, because you will not leave this kingdom until you’ve agreed. And then I have something even more valuable to bargain with Oakenshield.”

She huffed. And so she learned why even other elves refused to acknowledge kinship to the wood elves. “Count on any friendliness I showed you earlier to end after this.”

“As I said, I need it less than the dwarf’s.”

“What do you want from me?”

“The prisoners came across our borders with Lord Dáin’s soldiers driving them like cattle. They were exiles of the Iron Hills. I know you have Dáin’s trust not only as Thorin’s intended but as a previous merchant to his halls. I want you to go to the Iron Hills and use your relationship with him to find out who those prisoners were and if they have anything to do with Erebor.”

“And if what I find isn’t related to Thorin?”

“Well, you’ll be under my hospitality again until Thorin gives me what I want. If you don’t come back, you don’t get the dwarves from the caravan. Would you like to be able to prevent a war, Miss Houndberry?”

 _Not really_. But Thorin did not need that on top of everything else on his plate. “I obviously shouldn’t know about them. Don’t you think he’ll be suspicious?”

“That is for you to figure out.”

Thranduil had the pieces strategically placed on the board, and she was trapped within them. She wondered what he would have done if she had not come on this trip. “I guess it is.”

He nodded. “I do not expect you’ll want to cause any disturbance within the mountain, so I will make sure negotiations here last as long as you need to return on time for your party to turn homeward. We both want peace, Miss Houndberry. Remember that.” Soundlessly, without even a slight brush of his cloak on the floor, he disappeared out the door.

Cori steamed like vegetables in a pot. _I hate elves._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perian: halfling
> 
> I celebrated finishing my exams today with an ultra-focused writing session despite being in the pits of writer's block again. That's what happens when you post a first draft. Anyway, I've got nothing going on until January, so guess who's going to pull a miracle and get this story done before New Years? After that, I'm going to work on some little oneshots for "The Life of Hobbits" that takes place mostly after the end of TLOH. I have a bunch of original work that I want to get started on, so I'm not sure if I'll be doing any more long-winded fanfics, at least not for a while. There will be plenty more of Cori and Thorin, though. I can't wait to get through this and start on it. :)
> 
> I should post again in a few more days. Updates will be very frequent through December.


	15. Sticks and Stones

He was in the corner of the room.

As if the blanket would save her the way she used to think it did when she was just a little tike, she buried herself to her nose. Her form lay still; only her deep, rapid breathing disturbed the bedding. Kíli was in the bed next to hers, but she dared not to move to wake him. She feared bringing him into this.

Something was off in their temporary chambers when she returned to it after the library visit. The air felt damp, thick, and she struggled to take a breath. When she did, the blood rushed to her head. It was a miracle she made it to her bed without diving into the floor. Sleep came quickly, but it was neither deep nor restful. She drifted between the unconscious and waking world for a period of time, jolting several times at the sound of tree branches creaking as if just outside her window. The final time, she twisted her head toward the arched hole that opened up to a colorful garden below. She had not looked away.

The faint outline of the figure, mostly obscured in shadows, nearly reached the top of the wardrobe sitting beside him, one that was made with an elf in mind. The greasy strings of blond hair glowed dully against the black wall and dark clothing beneath it. There was no need for her to see anything, though. The presence was one that had stalked her sleep for years, and was not one she would soon forget.

Ryone.

_Deception lasts only as long as you have the guts to make it work._ It sounded like his voice, one of the first things to fade from her memory after she put an arrow between his eyes. But it was too vivid. _But you couldn’t do it last time, could you? They figured you out before you figured yourself out_.

“I figured you out,” she whispered into the blanket pressed beneath her nose, daring to blink once. He was still there.

_They’ll find out._ His head tilted just a sliver. _You’re not as sly as you think you are, halfling. You can’t run off and expect no questions. Then what’ll you do? Lie again? You were done, weren’t you?_

“He’ll understand.”

_He hasn’t forgiven you for the last time. What makes you think he’ll let this one go? Because you’re doing it for his own good? Wasn’t that the goal last time?_

She squeezed her eyes shut. Each word ripped a new hole in her chest.

_How long are you going to do everyone’s dirty work, Coronilla? What’s in it for you now, when you have an entire army at the tip of your fingers? Admit it. You’re willing to do anything to get away from_ him _because you know what being next to him means. Just like the contract with me. Binding. You care nothing for freedom anymore. You are consumed by_ him.

“Shut up!” she hissed between her teeth, tasting the salt of her tears.

What does love really mean?

She gasped and sat up in bed. The cold air pebbled her damp skin, and she twitched her legs away from the feathery touch of the light sheets. They felt like fingers. Her throat burned, just like it always did after _he_ appeared to her. Her gaze darted toward the corner. First light turned the room a pale blue. The space next to the wardrobe was empty. It always had been.

“Stupid forest,” she murmured, dragging a shaking hand down her face. She knew, the moment she stepped out of the Elvenking’s presence, the magic of the forest could get her. The longer she stayed in this Valar-forsaken place, the less of her sanity she would leave with. As if she stepped in here with much to begin with; Mirkwood only amplified what lay deep on the heart.

Love meant sacrifice. It always had. And she could not be a coward anymore. “I have to try.”

She lay back and sighed at the steepled ceiling. Thorin was not doing it on purpose, she attempted to remind herself. It was just the name of the game. She just had to decide if she wanted to play.

Kíli had little to say about her leaving once she reminded him of the story she told of her confinement in the Shire. He understood the restlessness of the feet, and put on her no blame for wanting to get away from the awful air that clouded the mind.

“Don’t tell Thorin. He’ll have my arse.”

She had no intentions to. Her hands were tied.

********************

Snow in the northeast bothered Cori little when in her early contemplations about moving to Erebor. Bad storms in the Shire halted commerce for at least a couple days. If the mountain was good for something, it protected against the elements while allowing its residents to continue on their merry business.

Hardly any good that did for Cori when she was _outside_.

The large flakes and bitter wind assaulted her for a night as she tried to cower in a shallow canyon somewhere in the plains between Erebor and the Iron Hills. The sky was a dreary grey the next morning, though nothing came from it. Once noon hit, the storm dropped an even harsher load into her. By that time, however, the gates to the Iron Hills were in sight.

After weeks in unfamiliar territory, the Cori of many years ago put aside her misgivings for the dwarves in her relief to finally have some kind of shelter against the cruel bite of the northern air, more extreme than anything she felt in the Blue Mountains. She welcomed the fire-warmed halls of Dáin Ironfoot’s home. Of course, she had that joy stolen from her this time around as an icy block of dread settled in her stomach. There would be no time for relaxation here.

The elf was lucky she had an alibi.

“Furs for market,” she told the dwarves standing at the gate.

One of them stepped forward, apparently seeking a closer look of the obvious pile of pelts lying across Shadow’s rump and neck. He found them satisfactory as he waved her on through the gate that the other guard opened for her. Who would not? As if she wasted her time on spoiled goods.

She attributed her successful hunt along the banks of the River Running to the approaching winter; the cold always brought out a final wave of animals padding themselves for hibernation.

The routine of sticking Shadow in the stables was familiar, and one of the grooms even recognized her. The older woman broached no questions and thankfully did not know the right ones to ask: the news of King Thorin’s relationship status did not include specifics like what his intended looked like. Again, it was to her advantage that she had shown her face there before. Another acquaintance caught her just outside the door, asking for a look at the two foxes strung over her shoulder. She left that exchange with three silver pieces and reduced stock. She would have no problem blending in. Things were tipped in her favor, it would seem.

Having an official statement from Erebor would have gotten her an audience with Dáin quickly. Just when her time was limited, she had such restrictions, too. The pressure almost made her sick. All she heard over and over in her mind was what would happen to her if she made even one misstep. The warnings showed their creativity. Certainly diplomacy was an acquired skill, and she had done nothing but funnel the desperate cries of help from her own people to the dwarves who were willing to lend a hand. Persuasion was a whole other beast. Mahal, she had not nearly performed the goodbye she wanted to with Thorin.

Nothing would ever quench that.

_For him,_ she thought when she considered turning right around and screwing her fist into the elf’s face. She had to get this show moving.

The inn and tavern had a place for her, though the innkeep gave her the customary suspicious look that all outsiders received. She put on her best respectable hobbit smile. “Would you mind passing on word to Lord Dáin that I’m here? Cori Houndberry should ring a bell for him.”

The dam lifted an eyebrow, but nodded anyway. “Don’t count on anything.”

“I’m not.” Maybe the time of waiting would help her come up with some lie to give to Thranduil. Then she thought of the way the king looked at her—through her—and decided that trying to deceive him would probably have worse consequences than coming back with nothing at all. According to Thorin, her face betrayed her at the most crucial moments.

The dwarf probably wanted nothing to do with her. If his relationship with Thorin was rocky after their disagreement about the taxes, he would first assume upon hearing her name that she was a broker for peace. Dáin’s temper was rumored to simmer longer than his cousin’s; Thorin had yet to let go of his grudge with Thranduil. She had very low expectations.

She set up shop in the tavern with the keep’s permission (and promise of a vender’s fee). All her wares laid out on the table in front of her, she sat on a stool against the wall with her knees tucked up against her chest. The fur laid across her shoulders kept the shivers minimal, but the deep chill from outside settled into her bones. She anticipated trembling until she buried herself beneath scratchy sheets and a couple pelts later that night. A casual gathering by the bar made up the entire patronage; an event somewhere perhaps? But no one who came in ignored her despite her obscure little corner catching very little light. If they managed something more than a halfhearted scrutiny, they actually examined her stock. A few walked away with a new skin. Some requested a look at the meat as well. In the end, what would she do with so much except find someone to have it jerked? Two dwarves made off with a discounted package deal of meat and fur.

She glanced down at the purse tied to her belt that had grown steadily over an hour and a half, and her lips twitched.

With only two pelts left, she decided to close up shop for the night and get some sleep when the door to the tavern groaned at the abrupt entrance. A mane of bright red hair falling around a collar of wolf’s fur popped in, and the hobbit froze. “She still in here?” Dáin Ironfoot thunderously demanded of the bartender. No clarifications needed. The dwarf pointed straight at her.

A wide smile protruded from the white strips of hair along his cheeks when he saw her. “Well, now, they were tellin’ the truth! What’s yer secret ta gettin’ passed our gates?”

“Confidential. If the hobbits ever get into a quarrel with the dwarves, we need all the advantage we can get.”

His guffaw grumbled in his chest as he pulled her tightly against him. She grunted on impact. _Dáin’s the hugger. Got it._ “Ain’t a doubt in my mind how ye survived all these years.” With one final pat to her shoulder, he stepped away. His mouth was tight. “So, what’s brought ye back here? Seein’ if ye like one mountain over the other?”

“I’ve still got some time for freedom before Thorin pins me up in there for good. Better believe I’m going to use it.”

“So yer alone, then?”

“Yup.”

“He know yer here?”

“Don’t worry, Lord Dáin. Someone knows I’m here. No need to call on anyone to pick up their runaway. I thought I’d grab a bit of my own coin while I was out. Contribute to the economy and all that. My faithful patrons here will keep me supported for a while, so I won’t have to mooch off His Majesty.”

A bushy brow twitched. “Now that’s an aim I can get behind. Always an admirer of those who earn their keep.”

“You won’t catch me idle in the mountain either, I promise.”

“Don’t doubt ye. Well, there’s no reason to make bad blood over such a simple thing as a bed. How’s a room in my house sound over a dingy inn, and I can boast with confidence to Thorin that I took care o’ ye?”

“You can trust me to protect you from a quarrel with him over that—I’ve always been a little strange about doing things my way—but I suppose I can save us both the trouble by not turning you down. As you know, he’s not easy to convince once his mind’s set.”

He laughed loudly. “Aye, that be my cousin for certain. That settles it. I’ll get to show you how much better the grub is here. Hobbit’s have a thing with food, don’t they?”

“That we do.” She would not tell him that she had a hand in the food made for the royal family now. Things were going much smoother than she anticipated. That still did not reduce the chance that this whole endeavor would crash on top of her. She had yet to reach the real challenge. Was it too much to hope that this good start would continue the luck?

The extravagant halls of the Iron Hills held some inspiration from Erebor; she knew little of its history, only that some of Thorin’s ancestors founded it. Dáin was as proud of it as any dwarf would be of marvelous architecture built by the hands of his forefathers. He clearly took pleasure in showing it to her. She smiled when she figured it was appropriate as he talked about the construction strategies that were important in making an unstable foundation safe to live in. As if the design of the columns and statues were not enough, his grandfather created a home from loose rubble and caves ready to collapse inward. She had to admit, after raising her family’s home out of devastation, she might strut like a rooster, too.

Dáin left her in a warm, comfortable room with instructions for calling in supper. It was better than the one she had the first night she stayed in Erebor after returning a battle-worn Fíli to his mourning family. The looks she received as she jogged through the halls after her host, however, were not as accommodating. As finely as she dressed when she left Erebor, days of travel settled into her clothes as expected. If they knew who she was, she thought, they might not have been so open with their glares. Despite the advantages her incognito trip so far provided, she drew little comfort from that. It solidified all that she witnessed in Erebor: a halfling was a halfling, no matter who was sweet on her. Their faces did not always reflect what was in their minds.

_Accept it now, before you get too invested in it._ The only ones who would like her were the ones that knew her, and very few showed any inclination toward that.

Sleep came quickly and restfully, as well as the cold bed would allow. The hazy veil draped over her in Thranduil’s halls was long gone, and dreams were pleasant again. Very pleasant. She lay next to a hot, naked body and combed her fingers through the silky mane attached to it. She awoke aching with need and from the hole in her chest.

Dáin invited her for breakfast with his family. It was time to strike.

Ydris, his wife, welcomed her to the table with a courteous smile within a long blonde beard and instructed the servants to fill the hobbit’s plate before anyone else’s. As well dressed as she was, her mannerisms were more fitting for someone who just threw on their nightgown before propping their feet up for the night with a good read in hand. Things were much less formal in this eastern settlement. She was not disturbed about tending to her guest despite having never met her before.

“My family was originally from the Blue Mountains,” she explained cordially. “We did business with the hobbits all the time. The Shirefolk make it along by themselves like squirrels to nut-gathering. I was disappointed when I wasn’t able to meet you after my husband bought one of your furs.”

The squirrel thing was new.

“Just another merchant,” Dáin argued around his full cheeks.

“That happened to be a lady and a hobbit. Well, she ain’t just any old merchant now, is she?”

“Nothing else at heart,” Cori replied, popping a potato into her mouth.

“Somehow, I doubt that, if Thorin sat up and took notice of you.”

Summoned by the name, a dwarf of pale brown hair tramped into the room, in the process of unstrapping his sword from his hip. The resemblance in the face was uncanny: this was Dáin and Ydris’s son, Thorin. He looked nothing like his namesake. He hesitated briefly when he noticed her seated next to his mother, but he quickly strode to his chair on the other side of Dáin’s chair.

“How’s the patrols, lad?” Dáin asked, skipping any traditional greetings.

“Quiet. Lazy. Typical.”

“Nothing glamorous about walking and looking at the scenery.”

Cori suppressed a snort.

Thorin dug into his helping before acknowledging the extra presence at the table. Not easily impressed, obviously. “You’re Oakenshield’s girl, aren’t you?”

“Don’t have any other reason to be this far east,” she shrugged. “Aside from the appetite for furs you all have.”

“Yeah, I remember you. Saw you bargaining with Adad over that beaver a while back. Thought he paid too much.”

“Thorin,” Ydris hissed, looking all of a second away from reaching across the table and slapping him on the wrist. Or, that would have happened when Cori’s mother adopted that face. The dam seemed the type to favor tough love.

“No, no.” Cori held up a hand. “I’m in the wrong field if I can’t take criticism for my work.”

“Noble of ye,” Dáin replied, turning to the younger dwarf. “But ye’ve got no business makin’ comments about a situation ye know nothin’ about. Think I’d let a lone lass walk out of here and all the way back to the Blue Mountains without a little jingle in her pocket? She earned the money.”

Thorin brushed it off. “Yeah.”

_It’s the name, isn’t it_? she thought, trying to connect two dwarves with the same charming first impression.

“So has my good cousin figured out what’s been itchin’ someone’s backside so much that they gotta out him?” Fortunately, Dáin was a decent politician and knew when to pull a conversation out of a rut.

“We’ve done a bit of housekeeping that we thought was related, but he’s no closer to catching any names than we were when you left the mountain.”

“I heard about the mines.”

“You did?”

“When a spot on the council opens up, word gets out.”

“Did Mundan make it here?”

“Nay. Scoundrel’s probably hiding out with some other exiles along the Redwater. Exile ain’t a common choice amongst criminals, but you get the occasional disgrace that chooses life over dignity.”

She swallowed quickly before she choked on her food. A hot second passed before she realized that he probably had no idea about her past. Best that he not learn anytime soon, from that disgusted sneer.

Wait, did that just fall into her lap? “You get any trouble from exiles?”

“Usually not,” Ydris replied, a disgruntled crease appearing in her brow. “But something’s stirred them up recently. They’ve been active, riding the foothills and plains between here and the River Running with nary an aim, least not one we can figure. Come to think of it, we did have one group that seemed to have their eye on something.”

“Amad,” young Thorin warned, fork frozen over his plate. Dáin mirrored his expression.

“What? She’s with the King. And after all, hasn’t she done a great deal more for our people than a lot of our own folk? Don’t tell me you haven’t been keeping an ear to the ground about all that mess in the West? I don’t care what those rumors about her place in all that mess up in Erebor. Loyalty’s up front, and it doesn’t falter in bad weather. After all that happened to the Shire, which I imagine involved her family, she still gave a damn about our hides enough to put hers at risk. I think the least she’s earned is our respect, and I stress _the least_. There’s a lot more I’d give her than a wary eye. And my cousin by marriage deserves to know who’s speaking his name.”

With three flabbergasted expressions watching her, she nodded for extra punctuation. Somebody else could speak. It took a moment before anyone did.

Dáin sighed, grimacing as if something tugged at a collar around his neck. “This ain’t somethin’ for Thorin to worry himself sick over. It’s Iron Hills business, and we got it handled.”

“The last thing I want to do is give that dwarf anymore reason to keel over.”

He smirked, nodding. “Right. Well, tongue-wagglin’s not uncommon when it comes to the higher-ups, and the sons of Durin get no grace from it, that’s for sure. They usually quiet down when ye give them a glare, but some things just stick. We only learned after they’d been here and gone that this group was a bunch o’ renegades. While they were here, they spread an epidemic ‘bout the heirs of Durin’s folk. Some dwarves make a pastime criticizin’ the descendants of Thrór, and most have the reverence not to let it linger too long. The thorn dug in deep, and next thing we know, they high-tail it out o’ here ‘n we’re left with a bunch o’ rabble rousers trying to convince others that someone else should be king besides Thorin, as if they got an opinion over here: hardly anything of what he does actually meddles on our day-to-day. No one was listening, but they wouldnae shut up. We moved them on out before they could get their trousers on. Last my captain saw of them, they were leggin’ it into Mirkwood. Safe to say no one’s gonna hear much from them anymore.”

Cori was certain she just watched the lips of Aulë move before her, because there was absolutely no way she would have gotten anything out of this dwarf without some kind of divine intervention. The Maker of the dwarves had his eye on Thorin, and she now decided to pray to him more often, whether or not it would change anything. She figured he would be satisfied with that kind of thanksgiving and maybe convince his children that she was not so bad after all.

“Nay a word to Thorin.” Dáin stared pointedly at her, looking the most serious she had ever seen from him. “It’s old news, and he’s got enough poking at him.”

She shook her head. “Not a word.” And it was not a lie, per se. Of course, it sounded suspicious, and much cause to get rid of Thorin, so she had no idea why Dáin did not make the connection and felt the need to keep it from Thorin. She would make no utterances to him about this. Thranduil would do all the talking for her. Even if this was unrelated to Thorin’s predicament, it was convincing enough that the elf would take it.

“If Mundan comes sniffing around here anytime,” the younger dwarf boomed, “we’ll alert the king immediately.”

“Sad state of affairs.” Dáin shook his head. “Of all the people to turn their backs on Thorin…Mundan had nothing but good things to say ‘bout Thráin and the kids. Real shame.”

“Yeah,” she replied, fingering her bacon. “It’s the close ones that get you the worst.”

************************

Thranduil and Kíli tolerated each’s presences the best Cori had seen out of any dwarf and elf encounter; even Elrond showed his thinning patience after a spell. They looked the other in the eye with a degree of respect one would feel for an equal, despite Kíli’s slightly inferior formal status. Kíli was not intimidated, and Thranduil was not irked by the lack of trepidation in the young dwarf. They had clearly done some good bonding in the five days Cori was gone.

Kíli wanted to make a good impression for his first official outing as ambassador. But the lad had his own agenda: if he had any chance for things with Tauriel to be done on good terms, he needed to gain the Elvenking’s admiration and regard. Thorin would be absolutely thrilled (for his nephew’s maturity, not his priorities).

“We have come to an understanding, Prince Kíli,” the elf stated steadily, fingers wrapped with light pressure around his wine goblet.

“We have.” Oh, no, she was wrong. The bite of impatience lilted Kíli’s voice. “I understand now that we have been going around in circles for these past few days, like two fighters in a sparring ring, only you’re trying to tire me out.”

“Trust a dwarf to speak in only battle analogies.” Were Thranduil not above it, he would have snorted. Cori bit her cheek against her wandering imagination.

“Is it not true, though? I’m getting worn out from these talks that don’t seem to be going anywhere. We have made no progress from the moment I stepped into this forest, and today’s meeting’s going about the same. No, we haven’t come to an understanding in the traditional sense, but I think we have each other figured out now. Which means you should know I’m not going to give up until some kind of progress is made. It’s your move.”

Thranduil chuckled, only a corner of his lips lifting a smidgen. He was like an ice sculpture. “It has been entertaining and fascinating to watch your negotiation skills shift. I would even admit that they have improved.” He laid his palm flat out on the table. Cori braced. “Here is my offer. Accept the toll for the road that I have now, and I will surrender the dwarves from the eastbound caravan to you now and all the information I have about who is trying to get rid of Thorin.”

Kíli’s eyes widened, and his head lifted from where it sat lethargically in his palm. “What? You know something?”

“Very little. I doubt it will make a difference for you, but coupled with the release of the captives, I think it will do for you a profitable return home.”

“You are breaking the alliance by withholding information from us.” Kíli bristled, listening to his flaring temper.

“There is no clause in the agreement that compels me to do you any favors. I am not openly antagonizing you, and I am offering the information to you. It makes little difference that it has a price attached.”

“It’s very different.” The prince rested against the back of his chair again, stewing. His mind raced, attempting for another rebuttal, but outwitting an elf was just something that folk like him and her had no hope of achieving. It was the way of things.

Then Kíli turned his eyes to her, pleading beneath the mask of control he put on.

“We don’t want war,” she whispered to him. “Thorin doesn’t, and you don’t.”

He nodded, giving Thranduil his best glare. It was stunningly scary for somebody as cute in the face as he was. “The issue of the tax and the war reparations will be addressed at a later date. For now, the agreement stays the same, and we will take our kin when we return to the mountain tomorrow morning.”

There was no satisfaction on the elf’s face. However long he had lived, this had been just another run-of-the-mill negotiation he needed to make as king. The indifference chafed at the hobbit worse than if he was the type to gloat such an insignificant victory. “I will arrange an escort for you out of the forest.”

Kíli nodded, rising from his chair stiffly. “Thanks.”

“Do you want the information that I have?”

“It’s probably false. No one outside of the dwarves knows what’s really going on, and the dwarves from that caravan don’t know a thing. Keep it.”

Cori opened her mouth, but snapped it shut again. In his instability, she would release Kíli’s full anger on Thranduil if she told him now.

Thranduil glanced at her briefly, but nodded. “I look forward to future discussions with you, Kíli, son of Víli,” the Elvenking called as the two others made for the door. “Truly. You have sensibility that is not very common among your people.”

“You should know that wasn’t much of a compliment. Good day.” The young prince burst out of the door with wide strides of his long legs which would surely take him right out of Mirkwood, if he had the choice. Cori struggled to follow, trying not to grin too much at the last little flicker of a frown she saw on Thranduil as she left the beautiful council room. She nearly sprinted halfway to their rooms before he finally slowed down, able to control his temper with deep breaths.

“You were magnificent, you know that?” she giggled, hugging his arm and patting his shoulder.

“Really? It played out differently in my head, pretty vividly. I wasn’t sure if I’d actually decapitated him or not. Should we go check?”

She laughed loudly. “No, I think his head’s still fine, unfortunately. No king slaying for you. Kíli, you got us in and out of there without causing an uproar and came to an agreement, even if it wasn’t favorable for us. That’s a success by itself. Everyone at home will be proud of you.”

Finally, she got that grin to come out. “You think?”

“When I start screaming about it, there won’t be a single person in that whole mountain who won’t think you’re Durin reborn. Mark my words, lad. Thranduil was right about one thing: you got more sense than most rulers in all of Middle-earth. And that includes him.”

Kíli fought to allow himself to relish in his successes, always wondering how he could be better. He had a lot to live up to, and big shoes to fill one day, even if his brother filled the biggest. And while he would probably still try to compare himself to his older brother in everything he did, Cori wanted him to start realizing that his own accomplishments had no less weight to them. He had a heart of gold, and it was entirely set on taking care of his family and his people. If Mahal did not give this lad everything he ever wanted in life, as much as he deserved it, Cori would personally seek out the ancient smith and strike him upside the head with his own hammer. Maybe, with a little dent in his skull, he would stop making his children so thickheaded.

“I can’t be so sure he didn’t want to manipulate you into war. Silver tongue on that one, for sure.”

He grew quiet as they walked on through the twisting halls. After passing a few patrolling elves that earned his blazing eyes, Cori wondered if she should take him to the sparring arena for a moment to let his frustration out before dinner. The way his jaw ground in vexation worried her. “Kíli?”

“Where’d you go?” Kíli asked her, and she startled at how serious he looked. The fire in his eyes had not doused, and she felt that he meant for the anger to be on her.

“To the Iron Hills, I told you. Made some coin on a few furs I got along the way.”

“Why’d you go?”

“Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about booking it from this place the entire week you’ve been here.”

Suddenly, his hand wrapped around her upper arm and he dragged her off the path and into an alcove next to the statue of a beautiful elven woman. He was gentle but unrelenting when he pushed her against the wall, and so was his expression. “Cori, please tell me the truth. Thranduil hadn’t budged once since we got here, and just like that, the day after you get back, he lays his hand out there. Uncle says never to trust a coincidence, and I’m really starting to see why. What’d you do?”

Dáin’s words echoed in her mind. She would pay them no mind on any other day—if she felt the need to tell Thorin, she would, no matter if Dáin wanted to keep some deep secret from him—but she knew that the news would just be another boulder on her burdened lover’s shoulders. She could not, in good conscience, add to his overflowing list of concerns. But the guilt nibbled at the back of her mind, and she tensed against the ache in her chest. “The silver tongue got to me, too,” she replied. “He needed information from Lord Dáin that he thought had to do with Thorin, and planned on using it during the negotiations. He cornered me. There are dwarves from the Iron Hills in the dungeons here. They were exiled for badmouthing Thorin worse than what is normal, I imagine, since Dáin actually cast them out for it. It seems serious.”

“Was that the information he was going to give us?”

She nodded.

“Why didn’t you warn me before we went in there?”

“If he had any inkling that I told you about what he did, he would’ve held us hostage here. He already threatened me with it once. We’re of more use going back to Erebor and organizing retaliation there than blindly getting back at him while we’re in his domain. I know your cool head only lasts so long, and threatening me would’ve been the last straw for you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

His nostrils quivered in anger, but his balled fists remained at his sides. “You’re not.”

“Let’s just go home and sort things out there, all right?”

He nodded, dark eyes burning into the ground. When he looked back up at her, concern lay beneath the ire. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with him alone, Cori. It’s not fair, what he did to you, and Thorin’s not going to be happy. Neither with Dáin. With everything going on, he should’ve alerted Thorin to something like that.”

“That’s why we’re not going to tell him about the dwarves or Dáin. We already know that somebody wants to get rid of him, obviously. Shouting dwarves is nothing new. And we’re going to be very careful with the way we break it to him. I’ll try my best to keep him from going after Thranduil right now, once he’s calmed down. The elf isn’t an immediate threat, but he needs to keep his mind on what is. Help me out, hon. We’ll tell him later, I promise.”

Kíli juggled the information in his head. She hardly blamed him. After all, nobody ever overreacted when they learned something new from her long overdue. He was on rocky ground with Thorin anyway, and he so esteemed him. But this was the same lad that defied his beloved uncle to search for her when she was cast out from their company and disappeared into the wilderness. He was not a sheep. “I trust you to know what’s good for him,” he finally said, still hesitant.

“Oh, come on. You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

He nodded. “I think you’re right. He won’t bend a knee to anyone, even if it gets him killed. That’s just the way he is. He’s mellowed out and more strategic than he used to be, but I think this attack from our own people has caught him off guard. He’s trying to figure out how to handle it.”

“One step at a time,” she said, rubbing his arm. “Just one day at a time. We’ll get through this.”

“I hope so.”

That night, Cori pulled out the note Nori gave her just before their departure from Erebor. It was a reminder that the elves were as plausible suspects in all this as any of the dwarves. She tossed it aside. As much as Cori wanted to pin this all on Thranduil, she had nothing. He was willing to give them information, and he sung Thorin’s praises repeatedly. To lie in such a way, he would have to stoop beneath his position, and he had nothing to gain from putting headstrong Fíli on the throne. All the evidence for the attacks pointed to a private affair that did not cross races. Somebody wanted Thorin gone because they disagreed with his rule and his parentage. That meant the boys might be targets, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why don't I just squeeze this in here right before midnight because I said I'd release this on Sunday? To be fair, we got the first snow of winter today, which is usually an inch or 2--we got like 10. Spent the day with my family looking at pretty mountains and the last few hours knocking out another chapter in this story. Expect another update this quick, unless something drastic happens.  
> Love you all! <3


	16. Poison

The last thing Cori wanted to do was play chaperone. She had her fair share of keeping propriety between her older sisters and their suitors. But when she was the only one standing between the most unlikely pair in Middle-earth and an entire population finding out something they probably would not like a little sooner than they should, well, she had a duty to watch a lot of honey-sweet smooching (she was certain chaperoning meant preventing such things).

An imminent long gap between seeing each other was a gut-wrenching thing to face. Cori knew.

As Kíli strode quickly toward his pony, pulling against an invisible boulder the whole way, Tauriel stared after him with a forced smile: a show for Cori. Neither of the women understood, and Kíli probably did not either, why there had to be goodbyes at all. A fair world instilled peace where conflict previously prevailed. Everybody wanted a fair world. Why was it so difficult to realize?

Too many people lived in it, and they all had their own image for an ideal one.

When Cori looked back at the fallen log the couple occupied for several minutes, the bright red hair had vanished. Kíli stared at the empty air, too, an almost unbearable weight dragging down his whole body. He looked too old to have just come of age. Cori reached over and patted his leg. “In time, lad. Things’ll work out.”

He sniffed, glancing up at the canopy above. “And how much of that would you say we have left?” He did not stick around to wait for an answer. “Come on. The company’s wondering where we are.”

She wanted to push aside the melancholy thoughts as a side effect of his emotional blow. But she wondered the same when every good thing that ever happened to her fell apart. How long could she enjoy them before something else tainted them?

What better way to answer that question than pretend like they had all the time in the world? One of the officials of their group insisted that a visit with King Bard would extend a friendly hand to Men. Whatever happened between Erebor and the Woodland Realm, relations with Dale would stay favorable. They had to, or the dwarves would be alone in the East. Gandalf seemed to think it was an extraordinarily bad idea to be separated. A wizard’s word should not be overlooked. So, despite everybody’s urgency to return to their families, they chose to extend their journey one more night.

Cori minded little, in the grand scheme. She liked Dale. It did not leave her feeling as if she just smoked too much pipeweed.

Upon request at the gate of the city, soldiers led the Erebor company to the king’s house, taking their ponies to be tended in the stables. As they waited in the courtyard for Bard’s arrival, Kíli noticed the fidgeting hobbit next to him, staring in amusement at her tapping foot. “Nervous as a rabbit, huh?”

She retorted proudly with a hand gesture that she actually learned from him. He just laughed, squeezing her shoulder.

While her last visit with Bard ended peaceably, they had not spoken a word since he accused Thorin of abusing her. Her reluctance to answer in straight sentences probably spurred his impressions, but she was sore about somebody making such a grievous assumption of the keeper of her heart. If he retained his thoughts, she would not apologize for being cold. She just hoped it did not hinder Kíli’s opportunity to keep friendly relations.

She was the first one that Bard looked at when he emerged from the archway leading into his home. He regarded her pleasantly before addressing the rest of the group. “I welcome you, good neighbors from the mountain.”

“Thank you for having us on short notice,” Kíli replied, shaking the man’s hand.

“I hear you’re on your way back from a long journey to the Woodland Realm. We would be delighted to let you rest the night here. Might I send a message to King Thorin of your safe return?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Cori had half a mind to head on back to Erebor by herself; she missed her dwarf. As Thorin’s mistress, however, she had a duty to present herself involved in the furthering of the kingdom, even if it was all for show and she did not actually participate in anything. He would probably scold her for bailing when she showed up, and that was the last thing she wanted to spoil their reunion. What was one more night in the face of over a fortnight away?

_Another fortnight. Yavanna, I’m hopeless._

After settling into their respective rooms, the company met in Bard’s large dining hall for an evening meal. The assembly on the table did not meet the expected standards for a king, or what Cori thought one would have, but Dale was a comparatively small place that had just begun to regenerate after a long period of discretion. Apparently, the King of Men had little love for charity. He stuck strictly to the deal he made with Thorin right after the Battle of Five Armies. A noble and hardworking man led this city. She had to give him that.

He and Kíli led the conversation throughout dinner, zealously chatting like friends. Cori learned sometime after getting to know the dwarves that Bard assisted them, however reluctantly, on their journey to the mountain the first time. The young princes befriended Bard’s children specifically (evidently, rumors of a union between Fíli and the eldest daughter Sigrid circled around the North despite the adamant refusal of the dwarves). Whatever ill feelings Bard may have kept concerning his first, less enthusiastic, impression of Thorin had not translated over to the heirs to Durin’s throne, and there he showed his good judgment.

Along the way, Bard expressed inquiry about the troubles in the Lonely Mountain. Despite the rising hackles from the rest of the room, Kíli obliged him his curiosity. Considering two of the dwarven officials dining with them were in direct contact with those of the royal council, Kíli wisely left out Thorin’s accusations toward his advisors. Nonetheless, he requested Bard’s discretion on the matter.

“You haven’t heard of anything strange in the city, have you?” Kíli asked after the explanation finished.

Bard shook his head. “Many people here are not friendly concerning the dwarves outside of business transactions. If something questionable were to make its way around, I doubt they would feel the need to report it. Who’s on the throne over there is of no concern to them, though I disagree entirely since I’m the one who has to deal with them. I have nothing to offer you that might help. I’m sorry. I will certainly keep an eye out, though. Your uncle and I—we do not always see eye-to-eye, but he has proven honorable above all else. I would hate to see ill befall him.”

“Me, too. We’d appreciate it.” Kíli tensely lifted his cup to his lips. Cori wanted to reach across the table and take his hand. He was scared beneath that stately disposition, and she wanted to scream for frustration at whoever caused it.

“Might I ask about your visit with Thranduil?”

“Business, nothing more. Say, how would you feel about lower taxes to the West?”

While Kíli attempted negotiating Bard’s signature on a petition for the toll, Cori wandered inside her own head. She had to make a decision soon about what she would say to Thorin. She wanted to tell him the bare minimum without leaving any gaps that could have her accused of skewing the truth, or withholding it. How much more could he take on his shoulders without breaking? The hardiness of dwarves might have escaped Cori’s comprehension, but that much stress could not be good for anybody, especially somebody entering the latter years of their life like Thorin. And he would stubbornly take on more trying to prove his endurance. Nobody would be praising him if he compromised his reign to do so.

And she contemplated Dáin. Kíli voiced the question, but it had not escaped Cori’s notice before then. Why had the king’s cousin swept such crucial information under the rug? They were also enduring a disagreement about item taxes, but this was Thorin’s life on the line. Such outspoken resistance of Durin’s heir should have raised warnings. The last thing Dáin would do was endanger family, as protective of it as he was. Maybe, once this whole thing blew over, she could tactfully bring it up with Thorin. Yet another spat. She wondered how Thorin could consider the life he had as peaceful.

Her mind swirled like a whirlpool way beyond dinner, and not even a relaxing pipe of weed could pin the thoughts long enough to give her some quiet. At least, when the king approached her on the balcony outside one of the upper-level hallways, she had a reprieve from their daunting depths. She offered him a puff, but he declined.

“I have never taken up the habit. Money always went toward food and herbs for my family. Even now that I can indulge, I still can’t convince myself to.”

“I rarely do. On the road, any coin I could spare beyond my own upkeep went to my family, too, even though they insisted they didn’t need it. The dwarves have gotten me into the habit. And don’t you dare make any comments about me becoming a dwarf. You’ve insulted me once, and I’ll definitely think twice about coming back here if you do again.”

He chuckled, nodding once decorously. “Very well, though I do recall that my implications were not directed at you.”

“I’ve lived my whole life making good use of instinctual survival skills, and you assumed that I would allow myself to fall into a dangerous situation like a tumultuous relationship. As if I didn’t have the means to get myself out, like an entire fur trade I’ve sustained off of for more than a decade. _That_ was your insult, my lord.”

He scrutinized her with amusement. “Forgive me. I wasn’t aware you were so self-sufficient. Bilbo told me little of hobbits’ convention.”

“It wouldn’t help. Thorin calls me an outlier, and that’s exactly what I am.”

“They must teach you something over there, if you’ve done so well for yourself.”

“Where I come from, things run a little differently than Bilbo’s hometown. Even in such a small place as the Shire, a difference in culture can mean a stone’s throw over a river.”

“Then I’m glad I haven’t put you off badly enough to keep you away. I would enjoy an expansion of knowledge of the rest of Middle-earth. Is the Shire looking for a new trade partner?”

She chuckled. “Little faunts might have their eyes on that toy market. Good luck getting hobbits to deal with Men again. They’re a little spooked after the Ryone incident.”

“I imagine so.” He paused briefly. “Fur trading, you said? You hunt?”

“Trust an esteemed bowman to be interested in such things. You won’t catch me bringing down anything as mighty as a dragon, I’ll warn you now.”

This time, he laughed heartily. “Any wild animal seems mighty to someone of your stature, Miss Houndberry, though I don’t doubt your resilience against them, from what I’ve seen.” He pushed away from the railing. “I am hosting a hunt shortly. If you need more sun and moon, you’re more than welcome to be my honored guest there.”

She might have given him an answer right away, had he not disappeared in the blink of an eye. Still, the idea of leaving the mountain again so soon settled poorly with her. To hunt! Oh, she would have leapt at the opportunity on any given day in the past. All she wanted then was a solid pair of arms enclosing her at night. She would consider the offer for later.

**********************

The King Under the Mountain greeted the embassy warmly against the bitter air of the approaching winter that crept in through the open gates. While each member of the company gained his attention, Cori was the only one who received a full-body examination. In his return to her eyes, she expected a promise for that night and prepared an entirely inappropriate suggestion in her response. Instead, she saw weariness and concern. Any lingering guilt she retained fluttered off and a new kind took its place. The last thing she wanted was to be one of the things that plagued his mind. She nonchalantly shifted her weight from one leg to the other, ignoring the flutter in her belly.

It would have to wait anyway. The council, including those of the company, whisked him and Kíli away to an obscure room for debriefing. Kíli tried to convince them that she had been a major part of the negotiations and that her response should be considered, but the counsellors wanted no outsider’s involvement in their business; as far as they were concerned, she took a vacation. She accepted the rejection, too tired to deal with their snide comments against her. They were not easy to listen to when she had not just ridden for almost a week in the early stirrings of winter.

“I will find you later,” Thorin murmured to her, ignoring the disapproving looks when he insisted on a quick kiss. It left her with a craving for his body, though not necessarily for sex. As she watched him walk away, she imagined curling up naked against his warm skin that night and hiding from her responsibilities, especially those more recent and less desired ones.

Fíli appeared from the welcoming crowd and pulled her into an embrace that hit the spot like a good swig of wine. “Well, you don’t look like you’ve been transfigured.”

She snorted. “The only transfiguring you’d see was if the air in that place affected _your_ mind.”

“You never really know, _namadith._ So, what’d you accomplish if not anything that the council will want to hear?”

She gasped, reaching down to dig into the bag hanging at her hip. When she pulled her hand back out, a few leaves of paper rested in its grip. “I got new recipes from Kíli’s lass! Apparently, she cooks to unwind. You better believe I’m going to convince Thorin to let her come if it means getting some good grub out of her.”

He laughed, shaking his head at the parchment she so tenderly handled. “You’ve got another thing coming if you think Thorin will let you cook elf food in his house.”

“I’d like to see him try to keep me from my cooking.” She winked, dragging Shadow off to the stables. Fíli’s chuckle melted away the blooming headache.

The mountain remained quiet while she was gone, or so she gathered. Still, it was plenty of time for the instigator to make their next move, and not a bit of it could be wasted just because Cori wanted to wallow in bed wrapped entirely in her gift to Thorin that she tended to use more often than he did (at his behest, since she shivered at night). Kíli had been the only one she could confide in about her true mission in the Iron Hills, and she trusted him to be tactful about how much information he gave. However, there was one other person she could trust to keep their mouth shut for Thorin’s sake.

Her search led her to the tavern.

Nori gave her a smug smile. “I knew you’d pull something out of that bizarre place.” He set his tankard down on the bar. “Must’ve been good since I’m pretty sure you just got back.”

“First of all,” she said, snatching his ale and throwing back a bit. She grimaced. What was served to the royal family actually was quality after all. “I had to do a few things that Thorin will not under any circumstances approve of. He’s got so much more to worry about without me to cock things up even worse. Tell him a few contacts of yours got the information, but don’t mention me.”

He lifted a braided brow. “How pissed is he going to be with you?”

“There’s a legitimate possibility that he will strike up a war with Thranduil on the spot, even with all this other crap going on. As reasonable as he’s been recently, _nobody_ will be able to stop him from tearing down Mirkwood.”

He pursed his lips and nodded once. “I believe you. My tongue don’t wag for just anybody. You have my word.”

She laid everything out, barring nothing, even the stuff she had not alerted Kíli to, including her reservations about Dáin. As he took it all in, his face grew harder and harder, until he actually scowled. Cori never thought it possible.

“The dwarves in the dungeons are Dáin’s mess. He can do what he wants with that rabble. If he’s officially exiled them, there’s no reason to go in there to free them.”

“I doubt Thranduil will keep them for long. He’s got no more use for them.” She tried to feel sympathy for them if he decided to show little mercy, but if she were truthful, they did not deserve any of her pity. What would she do differently anyway?

“Dáin’s right, though. No one’s ever satisfied with the heirs of Durin. Suppose nobody’s got the stones to do away with the formality of keeping the family, but everyone’s sick of it now. But you got good sense. Calling for their removal now is pretty suspicious, and even if somebody doesn’t agree with them, they would be associated immediately with the assassination attempts. They’ve got their mind set on that change, it’s looking like, no matter the consequences.”

“It’s not coincidence,” she mumbled, taking another gulp of ale. She glared when he dropped his hand down over the top of it, slamming it back onto the table.

“Whatcha thinking, sweets? That he’s claimed you as his ‘One’ or whatever and now everyone wants to off him for it? Kings have been pardoned for worse things. The consensus about Thrór was that he was responsible for the dragon, but everyone still followed him right up until he fell. This thing’s bigger than you, or you’ve got more arrogance than I first judged if you think that everything’s about you.”

She snickered, bumping her shoulder to his. “I’m setting up to be queen, aren’t I? Am I _not_ at the center of this mountain?”

“I think my head’ll roll if I don’t bow to you now, and trust me when I say it has nothing to do with the crowned shadow following you.”

“So what now?” she sighed.

“ _I_ tell Thorin. Dáin can do what he wants over there, but the bottom line is that he’s keeping information regarding Thorin’s safety to himself. That’s almost grounds for treason, if we can get him to confess that he was deliberately holding back.”

“This is insane.” She dug her fingers into her temples. “What have we come to that we can’t trust our own kin?”

“Like I said, there are troubles in the world bigger than all of us that’s got no concern for the innocent. No matter what, trust yourself and make yourself trustworthy. No one will think to link you.”

If she had that choice, she would not be an entire city’s least favorite person.

Thorin had not returned by the time she retired to their chambers for the evening. She picked up her bags from the parlor floor, ignoring the stillness in the air. Quiet was preferable at the moment, but it was unsettling in that room. The crackling fireplace provided some noise. She looked out the slim windows at the midday light streaming in. She desperately wished they would open.

A flash of color caught her attention when she glanced toward the bed. She walked up toward the pillows and smiled. A primrose sat on what had become her customary side of the bed. Next to it, a piece of paper bore the elegant penmanship of the king: _Welcome home_. She picked up the flower and stuck her nose to it, wondering where in Middle-earth he could possibly have picked up a fully-bloomed plant when it was so cold already; all the flowers she planted in her garden before leaving probably didn’t have time to even bud before the frost got them. She stuck the flower in a small glass jar and sat it on the table next to the bed, sliding the paper in the drawer where she kept all the letters he ever wrote to her.

After a quick wash, she put on a simple dress to see to having a small dinner with Dís, Tira, and the lads that night. When she walked out of the bathroom, Thorin sat on the edge of the bed, a pile of papers clamped between his hands. He looked up as she approached, then tossed the papers neatly onto the floor. She fell softly into his embrace, suddenly very drowsy and a breath away from asking him to accompany her for an afternoon nap.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he sighed against her ear, absently rubbing a hand up and down her back while the other threaded through her loose hair.

“We didn’t stall the toll,” she mumbled into his neck.

“You freed the prisoners. That is what matters most. We will worry about the tax later.”

“That tosser.”

He chuckled, laying her legs across his lap. “I have been warning you of the elves for as long as we’ve known each other. It is good to see progress in you.”

“Everyone else is fine. It’s just _him._ ”          

“I suppose I can’t really argue against that. Did he say something to provoke you?”

“He doesn’t need to _say_ anything. Just stare down at you like an ant about to meet his boot.” She sighed. “I’m really not in the mood to discuss it.”

“Fair enough.”

“What does the council want to do?”

“They aren’t willing to give up until the toll is eradicated, and neither will they allocate funds to appease him with reparations just for the sake of keeping peace. They’ll march an army over there so as not to appear weak to the elves. In short, their rhetoric hasn’t changed since you left.” His jaw flexed.  

“What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Though that’s not very comforting as of late.”

“I can only guess.”

He nodded. “Your accompanying the embassy raised a lot of questions, and brought you to the center of attention once again. As if this mountain doesn’t have more important subjects to consider.”

“What are they saying? That I whispered secrets to Thranduil that could help him counter your arguments and ultimately expose your weaknesses?”

He remained silent.

“Oh, come on!” She launched herself out of his lap, pacing across the room to the fireplace.

“I tried as best as I could to redirect their energy. In the end, I threatened their positions if they said another word about you. My fraying relationship with them is starting to show in the kingdom, and I’m losing the patience to care.”

That was the last thing that needed to happen. Thorin could not lose his authority and the respect of his people when he needed unity the most. She was a problem, even if it wasn’t justifiable or the most pressing. Dwarves were slow to change. If their bias persisted to such a degree, what were the odds that it would change in the future? Thorin would always be at war with his own people over her.

Could she not have a moment’s peace?

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me,” she replied, clearing her throat when she found her voice weak. “But I care what it does to you. You need to make things work, or everything will get a lot worse than it already is.”

“I will not abide disrespect to my future wife!”

More than his abrupt jump from the bed and the volume of his outburst, his words startled her. She stared as several waves of emotion rolled over his face, until he finally closed his eyes and draped a hand over them.

“I’m sorry. That was…”

She smiled, leaving the fireplace and tightening her arms around his waist. He did not touch her, his expression blank and heavy. “You think I’m going to take offense to that?”

“I don’t want to rush you.”

She reached up on her toes and feathered a delicate kiss over his lips. “If I’ve felt in control of anything since I’ve gotten here, it’s our pace. You haven’t overstepped. I’m the one barging in here.”

“You will _not_ agree with them,” he stated, hands gripping her upper arms.

“Thorin, I’m losing _my_ patience.” She pulled away, pushing her curls out of her face. “I can’t tiptoe around them forever.”

“You won’t have to.”

“You can’t be there to fight my battles for me all the time. If _I_ haven’t given them any reason to respect me, then it’s not actually honoring. It’s tolerance, and that means nothing if they’re doing it out of fear of you.”

“Then what do you suggest?” He searched her face as she cast her eyes to the ground. He tilted his head back with discernment. “Give them what they want.”

“If nothing changes, I’ll leave.” She grasped his hand. “I don’t want to, all right? Everything I want right now is here. But I can’t compete with an entire kingdom.”

He stayed silent, jaw grinding. He looked as if he desperately wanted someone there to scream at. When his eyes returned to hers, his face was blank and dark like she had never seen before. His voice cooled her blood. “It will not come to that.”

“You better not be planning on—”

“It will not come to that,” he repeated, sharp eyes pinning her to the spot as he yanked her against his body and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. His hands were severe, and leaving their hold did not seem to be an option.

She should have broken away and scolded him for handling her as he did, clearly out of anger and without any indication from her that she wanted her clothes discarded roughly from her body. But she desired him. She had not had him for two full weeks, and given their conversation, she could only guess how long she had to enjoy their love before the Valar yet again cast them apart. She could be persuaded into a rigorous reunion, and with this dwarf, his skills, and his knowledge of her body, she surrendered. They both needed the reprieve.

********************

Cori did not notice until a week later that leaving their chambers started to repulse her. She could stand the distance to the door leading out toward her garden, but only because she pictured her destination in her mind. Eventually, she started jogging. But the winter’s savage touch made the experience outside almost unbearable. After a large snowstorm hit, Dwalin deemed the path to the garden dangerous and insisted she not try it, especially on her own. The wind passed over the walkway on the gate to the city with extreme ferocity.

She was out of options, and slowly going out of her mind.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, laying the extravagant dress back down on the bed. It was beautiful, and she wanted to wear it, especially since she knew how expensive it probably was.

“What do you mean?” Thorin tightened his belt over his tunic, reaching for the doublet that came next in his grand ensemble. “A few weeks ago, you were excited for New Year’s celebrations. After our get-together with the Company was ruined, I thought you might be looking forward to an uninterrupted dwarven feast.”

“I was.” She leaned her head against the bed post, watching him dress. “I just don’t feel like it now.”

He stopped after slipping his last button into place, climbing the steps to her. His touch to her cheek and his gaze brushed over her tenderly. “I know things are not ideal at the moment, but the festivities will take our minds off everything going on.” He bent to lay their foreheads together. “Speak exactly what’s on your mind, _khajimele._ You have not been yourself since you came back from Mirkwood. You have refused me for two nights.”

“Am I obligated to please His Majesty at his whim?”

He pinched her hip. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, Thorin. I’m just not in the mood.” She turned to lie back on the bed, staring at the canopy above.

Thorin remained in his spot, studying her closely. “You have not wanted to do anything these past few days, Cori, after badgering me about keeping you locked in here with nothing to do all day. Your behavior is not normal, and you are concerning me.”

“If I agreed to go, would that get you off my back?”

“No.”

She sighed, rising to her feet again with difficulty; her body seemed to weigh twice what it usually did. She grabbed the dress and headed for their bath chambers. “Fine, I’ll go. But you aren’t asking anymore questions while we’re around people.”

“This discussion is far from over,” he said before his door cut his voice off.

Leaving the room and arriving to the dining hall made nothing better. When she saw the crowd and the tight space, her feet almost planted. There was absolutely no reason for her to be there except to fake her integration into a place that did not want her. The second the attendees aimed to give the king the reverence due him, they stopped halfway through their movements and frowned at his companion. Word spread quickly, it would seem, and the counsellors were impressively efficient at casting out their propaganda. No matter what was true and what was not, she had only a handful of supporters in the gathering.

Was this what she had to look forward to? Perpetually locking horns with her critics?

Forcing a smile like she should have was just too much effort; no one cared anyway.

“Durin’s folk have been in Erebor for five years,” Dís grinned proudly as the family gathered near the grand fireplace close to the drinks table.

“Actually, it wasn’t ours when we got here, so four,” Fíli replied.

“We could argue over technicalities for hours,” Thorin scoffed. “It never ceased to be ours, and it never will.” The dwarves toasted to that, each jubilant with flushed cheeks.

As they chatted excitably about their glorious home, Cori tasted her wine, rested her head on Thorin’s arm, and watched the others in the room. She tried to spot a few familiar, friendly faces, but she only caught those she would rather not see. After a moment or two of trying to find Dwalin, she gave up and set her sights on the light refreshments table spread out for the appetites that could not wait for the feast. From a distance, nothing lit a spark in her stomach, even though she knew how good it should have appeared. She chose to wait for the dinner to start.

Standing next to the table was Iren, and he stared straight at them. She had not seen him for some time, and convinced herself a while back that he took off back to Ered Luin without her noticing. Yet, there he was with winter at their doorstep, and so with obvious plans to stay until the passes through the Misty Mountains opened up. His cordiality to her so far had been surprising but appreciated, despite their rocky start, so she paused when she felt the intensity of his cold gaze. When he did not move or give her any indication why he scowled so, she looked elsewhere. _Just more opposition,_ she thought. _That charity was bound to run out later._ She just wondered what exactly seemed to change his mind.

A set of finger and thumb gently grasping her chin interrupted her staring, and she looked up into a troubled blue gaze. “Are you unwell, darling?”

“I told you I was,” she murmured, dropping her hands from his arm. He did not release her.

“You said you were not in the mood, not that you were sick.” His fingers brushed her forehead. “You must’ve picked up something in the Woodland Realm.”

“I’m not sick.”

He huffed. “Then tell me what’s wrong.” He lowered his face to hers. “Please, my love.”

“You know what’s wrong, and there’s nothing we can do about that, so just drop it, please.”

He shook his head. “There is more to it than that. I know you.”

“Can I retire for the night?” she asked, avoiding the concerned looks from his family.

Abruptly, his face hardened. He stepped away from her, bringing his ale mug to his lips after muttering, “Fine. Go.”

“Cori.” Fíli reached out for her when she spun to locate the exit. She easily evaded his hand, choosing not to look into his face.

“Good night,” she bid to them all, striding through an opening in the crowd that led straight to the large double doors on the opposite end of the room. It might as well have been a river with rapids and things with teeth beneath the surface.

She was so close to the door, the guards standing at it readied to open it. However, her trajectory reversed when a hand gripped her arm and pulled. She startled a little, not expecting Iren to be nearly bending over her. “What happened in Mirkwood?” he asked, barely coherent through his growl.

“What? Nothing.” She recovered. “We talked Thranduil into letting the prisoners go.”

“And that’s it? Does Thorin plan to retaliate?”

“He hasn’t told me anything if he does.”

He shook his head, mumbling something beneath his breath. “You need to convince him to. The elf is no less dangerous than he was when Smaug came, and he will stand by while ill befalls the kingdom. We need to set an example of him.”

“What makes you think that? He’s kept up a relatively healthy relationship with the mountain so far.”

He rolled his eyes. “He’ll take advantage of Thorin’s weakness and strike at the opportune moment. For the sake of this kingdom you’re pretending to rule over, demand Thorin take action.”

“I can’t,” she replied shakily, sneering against his bruising grip. She almost reached for the knife she kept strapped to her waist when he averted his attention. At the other end of the room, Thorin faced them, scorching Iren on the spot; the shadows from the fire that played across his face heightened the threat.

“Don’t think you’ll be safe if anything happens just because you’re not a dwarf,” Iren murmured before his powerful legs pushed him into the crowd, disappearing almost instantly.

Cori covered her sore arm, racing from the room as quickly as she could without drawing attention. She considered all the things she would say to him the next time they crossed paths that reminded him that she did not need the status of her lover to put him in his place. When she thought about actually confronting him, however, she acutely felt the energy leave her and convince her that it was not worth it.

A poison crawled through each inch of her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cori's not in a very festive mood. Too bad. I am.  
> She's seriously rubbing off on me, and I wish I could've written this at any other time of the year. XD But something's wrong with my baby, and I'm not about to abandon her. Thorin doesn't seem to want to either, but he's going every which way trying to figure out what's up with his little hobbit.  
> Hold on for the rollercoaster, guys, and hopefully I can get enough chapters rolled out so I don't have to post anything devastating around Christmas (spoiler, shh!). Let's aim for happy times instead, yeah? We need those in this story, for sure.  
> Love you all! <3


	17. Silent Villains

The last thing anyone expected of an entire city of dwarves was for the majority of them to agree with the peacekeeper.

Word spread of Thranduil’s stunt with the caravan and the message it implied. While unwilling to completely antagonize the dwarves, the Elvenking had no intentions of helping them out of the kindness of his heart or lessening the burden on them. Just another dirty trick from the elves, was the word going around, and the slight trustworthiness he built up until that point declined. The king’s council was as adamant as ever about trying to convince Thorin to answer with a heftier threat that would actually gain the dwarves ground in asserting their relationship with the Woodland Realm. Things seemed to run the same as they always did in dwarf halls: tittering about elves and bickering about war.

Until some higher-ups decided Thorin actually knew what he was doing by employing a nonviolent approach.

While the strength of Erebor’s army increased overnight, it only gave the residents a sense of safety against another possible orc intrusion into their lands. What it did not incite was an impulse to test it. The general consensus was that, while they did not _need_ the alliance with the elves to sustain themselves, it was very helpful. Under Thorin’s influence, Durin’s folk were starting to poke their heads out of their holes and pay attention to the world around them. In doing so, they had to make decisions that would not end with them driven right back into those holes like grouchy groundhogs. Picking fights left and right was not the answer, and the skirmish with Ryone was still fresh in everyone’s mind.

With a good portion of the populace on Thorin’s side, the council had no choice but to concede, even if they did so with frustrated obscenities. They opted to throw new ideas onto the floor, putting their crafty heads together. They were not submitting to the elves. They just had to prove themselves the bigger person.

It was a step in the right direction, but it left many confused.

“I was certain,” Dwalin grumbled into his ale. He and Balin joined an intimate family meal taking place in Dís’s chambers where small talk revolving primarily around Tira’s and Cori’s recent letters from families converted to big debates. “They all had it out for him. No one flinched at Mundan, and they opposed Thorin on pretty much everything. Yet now they want to play nice?”

“Could always be a ruse,” Kíli threw out, fumbling with a slim stone around his neck. It was not hard to guess where he got it, since it appeared right after his trip to Mirkwood. 

“Or we could’ve been looking in the wrong direction the whole time,” Nori threw out, having walked in behind the sons of Fundin.

“It was always a possibility,” Thorin sighed. “We could never get any real evidence against them, besides Mundan. He’s looking more and more like an isolated case, unless he’s the one solely responsible.”

“Nothing’s happened since he ran,” Dwalin replied. “Nori ain’t heard a peep, least not anything he’s told me. Maybe he was the one holding it all together, and now it’s broken down. If we’re lucky, it’ll dissolve into the stone and we’ll never have to hear anything again. I’m tired of reminding myself that I _want_ to throw myself in front of the king if an arrow were to come at him out of nowhere.”

“Ever grateful for your service, _murkhûn,_ ” Thorin smirked dryly. “Might I remind you that you’re still obligated to do so even if no one’s actively trying to get me?”

“That ain’t really something anyone needs reminding of.”

“A little disappointed, actually,” Dís sniffed. “No love for any of those old crooks. High time we weed them out and put a more agreeable lot in their places.”

“We’ll just have to wait for time to take care of that.” The siblings chuckled together.

“What about those dwarves of Dáin’s?” Balin asked.

Thorin blew out a long breath of pipeweed that seemed to relax him into his seat. “He has made an example of them by driving them into exile. I doubt we will hear much from the Iron Hills again after that.”

As much as they wanted to believe the possibility that things would quiet down, Cori had not the luxury. She did not trust the silence, and while they may have been suspicious of it as well (and the schemes that could have been hatching in the meantime), they were better at suppressing their fears than she was.

A week after the New Year’s celebrations, the ceasefire within the council room came to a halt at the hands of Iren.

“He will not back down about sending soldiers to Mirkwood,” Thorin explained to her, downing a good portion of his mug in one go. Upon returning in the evening, he dressed down and began a brooding session next to the fireplace in the parlor. “He says he will contact Lord Arin for his input. He seemed confident Arin would back him.”

“Arin’s in less of a mood for war than we are,” she replied, legs crossed in the chair across from him as she stitched a design onto one of Kíli’s tunics; her artistry blossomed under her constant need to fiddle with her hands. “What can his input do anyway if you say no?”

“If the majority in the Blue Mountains back Arin, I could have an uprising. There’s no use in calling myself king if no one will follow me.”

“Seems like you have to cater to your people’s every whim.”

“Not necessarily. As you said, I have the final word. But after Ryone, I have their trust, and now Erebor’s as well. There is nothing to worry about.” He absently watched her fingers work over the cloth. “What did he say to you at the feast? I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.”

“The same thing. He thought I was the ticket to changing your mind.”

“You might be,” he murmured.

“Not if I’m talking nonsense. I don’t have an intelligent argument in favor of a war. Don’t worry. I’m not going to wile you into doing what I want.”

“I wish you’d say what that is.”

Her mouth snapped shut. She was tired of every conversation turning toward them.

“I cannot help you if I don’t know what’s causing you to shut me out.”

“I don’t need help,” she quipped.

He scoffed. “You are screaming for it, _khajimel._ Behind your eyes. You are just too proud to vocalize it. I would say you are being influenced by the dwarves too much, but you’ve always been stubborn enough to carry the weight of the world by yourself.”

She jerked her head up, gaze begging him to give it up before she said something less nice to the same effect. He got the message, shaking his head as he brought his mug back to his mouth.

Through the years since Ryone’s death, she could count on her hand the number of times she had truly terrible nightmares. That changed when the cold and lifeless faces of those she loved took hold of her dreams. The threat was still there, waiting in the shadows where the beam of light illuminating the bodies did not touch, but she could not see it. All she could do was sob silently into Thorin’s bloodied body, and then do the same in his warm, unharmed chest when she jolted awake to their safe bedroom. He never asked, just held her; repressed memories of the horrors they had seen could easily be brought to the surface by their stressful situation. Nothing he said would do away with this disgusting feeling of helplessness.

She was quickly losing the fortitude to put on an undaunted face in the morning so she did not have to curve more interrogators than one.

Thorin was running out of patience with her. He could only be dodged so many times before it was easier to just avoid her altogether. She did not blame him in the least; she was not the most pleasant person to be around when all she could think about was what it had been like to ride from Mirkwood to the Iron Hills and back, sleeping under the stars like her nomadic life had not been halted by dwarves intruding on the good thing she had going on. As he stormed out of the room after an unsuccessful attempt to coax her into a stroll to the market, he muttered something that perked her ears.

“Retreating into yourself does not make the room smaller.”

Whether or not she thought of that phrase the same way he did, she realized that it was true. The ceiling in the most cavernous part of the mountain was still lower than the sky.

As she reclined by herself in the middle of the day, willing herself to inventory the small harvest of herbs she managed to gather before the growing cold crippled her garden, a knock on the door took her out of her pleasant daydreams. She could only stay mad at the jovial little lads for so long, though.

“Need something?” she asked, trying to tame her curls with a hand before they noticed how she put no effort into it that morning.

“Put on something warm,” Fíli said, taking in her simple tunic and trousers. “Boots preferably, too. It’s snowing.”

“Where am I going?” she asked without moving.

“We are taking you on patrol with us,” Kíli replied, bouncing on his toes. “We caught wind of some suspicious activity going on around the western side of the mountain, and Thorin wants us to check it out while business is low. He insisted we bring you along, but we were going to ask anyway.”

She surprised herself by replying, “No, thanks. I’m kind of busy in here. Maybe later.”

They exchanged glances, suspicious mischievous. “He’d said you’d say that,” Fíli smirked. “And we’re supposed to remind you that we’re going outside the mountain, and probably for the last time until spring. Thorin’s closing travel in and out since the weather’s so bad.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, got it. Still no.” She moved to shut the door, but Kíli’s big boot blocked it. She pushed against it for emphasis. “His ax is sitting right here. You don’t need those toes, do you?”

“You know, Cori.” He leaned against the door frame, grinning down at her. “Anytime you make excuses for refusing to do something you clearly want to do, we are obligated to intervene. It’s happened before. And we’ll keep doing it because it’s good for you. Now,” he twirled his finger, “off you go.”

The protest was on her tongue. But Mahal, she missed them. “Fine.”

Wrapped in several layers and nestled in between the brothers on their ponies, Cori left through the gate of Erebor. Immediately, she felt the disappointment of inevitably going back inside, and the biting wind was not enough to coax her into finding any delight in the heated halls. Neither Fíli nor Kíli said a word despite communicating their attentiveness to her moods through occasional glances at her.

An hour of riding later, they came upon the spot just below Ravenhill that allegedly had been occupied with some sentient being the day before. It was a place where the River Running was flush with the mountain slope. The first thing Cori noticed was a set of iron bars over an opening in the rock where water ran through. Enough snow had fallen to cover tracks, so if anyone had actually been there, they would not have known. There were no other traces to give any clues to their motives in that particular spot.

“The guard was mistaken,” one of the accompanying soldiers said to the princes, glaring at the vacant spot.

“We’re better off playing it safe in these times,” Fíli replied, rolling ideas around in his head like he was prone to do.

“How long do you think we’re going to have to jump at every bump in the night?” Cori asked, turning Shadow so his tail faced the wind. The tips of her ears had begun to sting even though her hood covered them.

“There’s no good time to let your guard down. It just gives your enemies a greater opportunity for success.”

“I hope you’re not planning on dragging me out every time you feel the need.”

Fíli chuckled, signaling their small band to begin the trek back around the mountain. The snow had thickened since they left, and visibility was greatly reduced. Cori thought about their pass through the Misty Mountains on the way to the West. She would never forget that cave and the shock of whose heat brought her from the brink of freezing to death. She could confidently say that that was the night leading to her being back at the mountain as she was.

Thorin truly was the only thing holding her there.

“You know, I’d half expected you to start a snowball fight at some point,” he said as he rode closer to her, his voice low.

“Don’t you have a presence to uphold, little king?”

He grinned. “Aye, I suppose I’d have some explaining to do. But I’d put up with it if it meant seeing you smile.”

How strange that his words made her frown.

“You think you can get away with locking yourself in your room without anyone noticing the difference? Or how it conveniently began right after you got back from Mirkwood?” He looked toward his brother on the opposite side of her. Kíli steadfastly pointed his nose forward.

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re all right, because I know you’re not, no matter what you tell me. Nor am I going to ask you what’s wrong because I feel like Thorin would’ve figured that out by now, and it seems like he’s taken to throwing you out on patrol duty to get you to do something extravagant, so that’s pretty telling.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“I just wanted you to be aware of what we’re seeing, and how it makes us feel.” He put his hand on her leg. “It’s looking an awful lot like what happened after Annúminas.”

When she flinched, Kíli jumped in. “If you want to accuse her about something, just say it outright. She doesn’t need you guilting her into talking.”

Oh, Kíli. As unsubtle as ever. And Fíli looked like he found a diamond in a pile of coal. She sighed, feeling the painful squeeze of entrapment. She checked the proximity of the soldiers before whispering to Fíli what she told only his brother: Thranduil’s threat. Naturally, his face hardened, the muscle in his jaw popping out.

“You know Thorin’s going to recant the peace treaty as soon as he finds out about that,” she said.

“Oh, he’ll go over there and wring the elf’s neck first. That is, if I don’t get to him.”

“Fíli…”          

“It won’t reach him, or anyone else for that matter. Odds are, as soon as people hear about it, they’re going to turn this on you for not fessing up about it sooner. The mountain’s so vindictive recently, they’ll take any opportunity to throw you to the wolves. You have to be on your best behavior, Cori, and that means pretending like you actually want to be here.”

She sighed. The boundless, irritating wisdom in this lad. “I love you all. You know that, right?”

Kíli grinned. “We know what’s got you tied up.”

“And you’re going to find the knife that’ll cut you loose,” Fíli said. “Because you don’t sit and take what’s handed to you. You make it yourself. You know what you want.”

She did. He had no clue that both things tore her in two ways.

Evening drew near as they passed through the gate again, and the dimmed front hall glowed with the abundant torchlight. Grasping for something comfortable, Cori dragged out grooming Shadow until even the brothers disappeared for dinner, which both invited her to their respective separate occasions. She laughed them and their playful squabble off, intent to return to her room once more; each breath had become a yawn.

It did not escape her that Shadow’s head drooped as soon as she led him into his stall. He was so difficult to manage right before leaving the mountain, dancing around like a hobbit to a good fiddle with a few rounds of ale in him. It was easy to guess what he suffered from.

“In a box, huh?” she murmured into his fuzzy ear, glaring at the walls of his stall. “You and me both, laddie.”

Whichever route she took, he would have more appreciated accommodations. At least one of them would have it.

She doubted Thorin would have returned to their room. He made a point to put more time in his office, rarely long enough to miss supper. Whatever made him rush home every night was no longer there, apparently. Cori had total control of that; that did not mean it hurt less.

“Miss Houndberry.”

She tensed. That voice would have put her on edge anyway, but there was something about the way Iren stretched her name out in that baseline tone that almost made her convulse from the shiver up her spine. However friendly or otherwise amicably acquainted he had presented himself in the past, he was not looking for a friendly chat now. He would not get one from her either. Stopping in the corridor right in front of the armory, she turned. He approached with his large nose and hairy chin tilted in the air. She wanted to make a joke about one of her old neighbor’s dogs searching for a cat that way, but he looked pissed.

“Can I help you, Master Dwarf?”

She should have run when that grin first appeared, and considered her words more carefully. “Why, yes. I do believe we might be able to help each other. Shall we?” He motioned into the doorway of the armory, dark with a noticeable lack of torches going. No one was in there.

There were plenty of people walking by. “All right.”

Just inside the door, separated from the corridor by a wall, Cori turned with her back straight and the sternest face she could summon. She faced a politician; if he wanted something out of her, he would take every available weakness of hers and run with it. No one took advantage of her just yet.

“Did you do as I said?” he began, crossing his arms over his broad chest. She wanted to snort.

“I told him what _you_ said. Whatever magical spell you thought I’d put on him to get him to agree to it didn’t seem to work on him. Which did you think would be stronger? Some fabled fairy magic of hobbits or womanly wiles? Brave of you to assume Thorin Oakenshield would stoop to either.”

“He will listen to what anyone tells him. Wizards, halflings, traitors. One need only give him a tug in a direction and he will follow without looking at what’s in front of him.”

“I assume there’s a reason you’re insulting the king right in front of his mistress.”

“I admit I feel the need to test your loyalty to him. I’ve witnessed much since I’ve been here.”

Her brow furrowed. “What results are you expecting?”

“Something that, I reiterate, will serve me well.”

“Where’s your contract? I thought dwarves couldn’t leave that many doors open.”

“I can have one drawn up for you, if you feel there’s a need.”

_This can’t be._ “After you give me your proposition. I was a business woman before I delved into the high life.”

He grinned. “So I’ve heard. Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s your objection to wealth. I’m certain the king has not neglected to offer you your pick from the bounteous treasure hall.”

“My affections are not for sale.”

“Ah, yes. As you said, you have a professional’s mind. And it is your own; I realized that when you left my company when we traveled here together all those weeks ago. You aren’t so blind in your infatuation with the king that you would compromise yourself for his sake.”

She swallowed thickly, hoping her pounding heart made no physical impressions. It was one thing for those she knew well to read her: the princes picking her apart earlier that day did not surprise her in the least. The only way that this dwarf could know such things about her was if he spied on her, or had contact with those who did. She thought about the dwarf that tailed her.

How indeed could Iren have known that scoundrel had bad intentions for her specifically in order to alert her?

“You see now,” he said, lips parting with a spine tingling grin. “I’ve never wished ill on you, Cori. You are not to blame for the falsities you’ve been fed. You may not have been able to deduce them up front, but I know you will make the right choice once you’re made aware.”

She worried her lip. “What have they been telling me?”

“There are many who will follow Thorin Oakenshield to their deaths—many more who have—and while it is unsurprising given his incredible battle history, I feel he has reduced in his older years. He no longer adheres to those convictions that earned him his name. He has lost sight of the vision created by his forefathers. King Thrór had excellent aspirations for this kingdom, and while he failed to execute them, that does not mean those who try will never realize those ideas.”

“What were they?”

“Thrór stood for the dwarves and the traditions that have long governed our people. He wanted to display the power of the dwarves by our propensity to gather raw resources from the earth; there is not a race of the Free Peoples that has not circulated money created from what dwarves have mined. He chose not to seek aid from those outside our race to prove that we will endure when all others fail.

“Such ideals worked well for us for centuries, but the curse interrupted that. Thrór doomed his line after he failed to control the power he held, the most excellent wealth and office throughout all seven clans of the dwarves. Thráin was not strong enough to revive those principles, and so our hopes lay in his son. Not only has Thorin failed to maintain what his grandfather started, but he has endeavored to make changes to our people’s mores that will ultimately lead to another downfall, along the same lines as the dragon. And that is where you come in.”

She nodded, attempting to hold her face straight. She had to keep going, or he would figure her out and Thorin would be in serious trouble. “So you are blaming me?”

He shook his head. “Far from it, Miss Hobbit. You are not aware of what such divergence as taking a lover from another race will do to our people, but I will not hold back the truth from you. Thorin’s intentions toward you may be sincere, but they come from a place that denies who he is. It’s not normal to seek the company of somebody not a dwarf in that way. I’m afraid whatever he seeks to do will bring undue harm to you, and that isn’t fair. Not after all you’ve done for our people.”

“You think he’ll bring the curse back?”

“He already has. That madman Ryone inflicted terrible pain on our people, and all in response to Thorin’s doing.”

“Wasn’t Thorin trying to make the dwarves in Ered Luin prosperous? Ryone came after them because they didn’t share.”

He was becoming impatient, and angry. “Yes, but Thorin brought down the curse on the whole operation, dooming our people to disaster like genocide. What he accomplished came with consequences that set us back tenfold. And now he seeks to treat with Men as if they didn’t try to exterminate us like rodents.”

She nodded slowly, feigning discernment. “He doesn’t have the judgment to be a leader.”

A wide smile split his beard. “I knew you were clever. No, he is not fit to be king. The only way to eliminate this curse is to interrupt the line and set another in its place.”

_Oh, Mahal, no._

“You can understand that, right?” His sharp stare advised her that it was not actually a question. “If somebody were to invade the Shire and attempt to rewrite your people’s way of life, would you not wish to fight back by any means necessary?”

“I’ve already had to do so.”

“And so I perceived that you would know to do what is right.”

“How can I help?”

His eyes flickered toward the doorway and over her shoulder, and his deep voice rumbled dangerously. “I want you to assassinate the king.”

She could not help the gasp, but the sensation of a punch to her gut was too strong to ignore. “What…?”

“I know it is risky. But of any of my sympathizers, you are the one that could get close enough to him without immediate consequences falling on you. It is easy. Lure him into bed late in the evening, end him while he is most vulnerable, and he will not be found until morning. I will provide you with an easy escape, I swear.”

“You said we would be helping each other.” Now seemed like a strategic time to voice the outrage building up in her. “What’s in this for me, and how will my family not become involved in this? You know that’ll be the first place they look for me.”

“Once we have put our new king on the throne, you will not have to worry about anyone coming after you. You will be free to return to the Shire as you’ve longed to, and I will ensure you and your family’s safety.”

“Will you be king?”

He chuckled. “Oh, no. We have someone much more suitable for the throne. He’s already had a taste for leading.”

_Dáin._ His family and followers in the Iron Hills would have been out from beneath Thrór’s influence long before the dragon came. The line of Durin was too broad to ever hope to erect someone that did not have the blood of the first Deathless, but Dáin was distant enough and had the right qualities to be king. It started to make sense.

“I saw such happiness in you when we traveled through the Misty Mountains,” he said with a hint of something like affection. “You were made for life in the open air, free to roam to your heart’s contentment. I will have everything arranged for the day you choose to follow through. Once it’s all over, you will be free to live the way you wish to. Do you accept?”

The bastard knew her. She had no idea how he managed to gather so much information on her, but his attacks were so perfectly placed, he might as well have been inside her head since arriving at Erebor. She would need to contemplate who his contact was that she had apparently been so chummy with, but she had a whole different issue to address first. After a long moment of staring at his boots, rolling around his proposal in her head, she looked up into his hairy face and grinned. “You could not have possibly counted on my willingness to do your dirty work for you.”

His eyes widened a little.

“And for that matter, was I so easily influenced by your masterful rhetoric that works so well on those you govern, you couldn’t possibly accuse me of having my own mind. See, there’s no truth, Master Iren. The dwarves, Thorin included, have been wrong about hording wealth for so long while others suffer. And Ryone was certainly out of line with the whole termite-squashing scheme. The world’s actually a big mass of grey. Look hard enough, and you’ll see that your own words very much rely on a black and white scenario.”

“You’d insult the traditions of the dwarves that predate your entire race as it is today?”

“Well, you started it. How’d you think I’d take to you saying I was the main reason Thorin was screwing up so badly? ‘Oh, you’re right. Those disgusting halflings always ruining everything.’ I assumed, after admitting that I was incredibly helpful to the dwarves against Ryone, you’d see the advantages to mingling with other races. But I guess, if you always play like everyone’s going to stab you in the back, you’d be wary of the little scamp that you can’t even hear come up behind you.”

His face had grown red. He gradually shuffled toward the doorway, bristling like a wolf. “I’d watch who you’re threatening, girl. You wouldn’t want your involvement with Ryone to reach the wrong ears, would you?”

She froze. _How?_

“Your accomplishments in the effort against him have overshadowed the fact that you assisted him in his ambitions. Many in Ered Luin are of this mindset, and I do not see how that could stand. It would not here; there are so many already who see reason and will not tolerate a complete disregard of such important information. But that will not be a problem once we have gotten rid of those who would pardon you simply because the king finds you a good lay. And you will help. Won’t you?”

She tilted her chin up, letting him see her smirk. “Good luck trying to prove those rumors true. Your only reliable witness is dead.” As she made to skirt around him to exit the armory, his hand leapt out and latched painfully onto her arm.

“Say a word, halfling, and you will spend a long, harrowing life regretting ever opposing me.”

She ripped her arm away, locking eyes with him before marching out into the corridor. As soon as she turned the corner leading to the legislative wing, she broke into a sprint. Her boots pounded up the stairs to the floor above, lungs fighting the rising panic. She could just feel a pursuer lingering right at the tail of her cloak, but when she turned, there was nothing but confused onlookers watching the hobbit flee like a skittering mouse.

When she burst into the council room, her eyes furiously scanned the table. No one sat at it. She turned her head to the left, releasing a breath when she met a pair of surprised blue eyes.

“What is it, _khajimele_?” His inquiry was cut off when she launched herself into his arms, crashing against his chest with an “oof!” from them both.

Cori had to hold on for a moment, her arms latched around his neck like a chain. She needed to breathe him in, let his warmth soak into her. Like the charm she knew it was, her heavy panting subsided and the spots in her vision cleared. She pulled away, lifting her hands to his cheeks. “We have a problem.”

He, with Balin beside him, listened as she recounted the conversation as best as she could. As his face contorted into indignation, she instantly felt in control again. He would see to it that Iren paid for his insolence. And he was safe, now prepared should Iren try anything.

“Cori,” Thorin sighed, and the cloud she momentarily floated on dissipated beneath her. He looked troubled. “You should have made a scene.”

“What?”

Balin nodded. “He took you alone into the armory. There were no witnesses. You have no proof other than your testimony that this took place, and that would not be enough to prosecute him for conspiracy, or even come close to linking him to the assassination attempts like you’re trying to.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You don’t believe me.”

“We said nothing like that,” Thorin retorted. “But your accusation comes out of nowhere.”

“He’s opposed you against everyone else’s decisions!”

“Only for a week, and he’s been respectable about it. The attempts started nearly a year ago. There is no way you could pin that to him. No one would believe you.”

“Thorin.” She bit her lip when it threatened to quiver. “ _You_ can do something…”

He shook his head. “I do not believe you would lie about this. But it will look like I executed an otherwise honorable politician.”

“Curse the rules!” she cried, wiping furiously at her eyes. “You can’t break them just a little for your own security’s sake?! For a show of faith in _me_? Does your image mean more to you than I do?”

“That is unfair…”

“You’re damn right, this is!” She turned and sped out of the room, aiming for the battlements where the cool air was. She needed to think. She had to freeze and break this ache in her chest that only Thorin could resurrect. Then she could plan how to save the imbecile’s life because, if he died, she surely would, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murkhûn: shield-man (shield brother)  
> Nope, you're not seeing things. I wrote a chapter in one day. Deadlines are great motivators, and I've made the 25th mine. There's not much more left in this story anyway.  
> You know what's a good time? Writing someone plotting the death of another person while jolly, bouncy Christmas music plays in the background. Nothing says regicide like "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."


	18. The Road Forks

There had been no reason to lie to her all those times the lot said they trusted her more than many others of their own kind. She preferred the hard shove instead of slowly and agonizingly lowering her into reality. Now she had to pretend like it did not hurt to be told one thing only to see the truth of the opposite played out in front of her. He would give her that pitiful apologetic look, and they would be back to square one. So she shed all the tears she needed to while standing alone on the gate.

She would try as hard as she could to deal with their personal problems, if she thought it would help. Even if their relationship was perfect, the struggle lay in the outside forces trying to shove them apart time and time again. It was not meant to be. For all their determination to carry a torch for each other despite everything that stood in their way, practicality made for the immovable object. Neither of them were to blame; Thorin did not choose to be a king, and she could not be something she was not even if she wanted to. But they did not have the power to change their courses, the helm of their lives. If neither of their paths actually crossed, they just had to accept that.

And that was where the tears came from. Every thought of separation from him was a knife twisting in her gut. But maybe there lay an issue also. It was too dangerous to be so dependent on another person, to base all one’s life choices around them. They vowed so long ago, in the back room of a smial in a far corner of the Shire, that once Cori fulfilled her duty to her family, nothing would stand between them. It was a dream. A beautiful one, but dawn came no matter what.

“My lady?” By the time the errand boy showed up, her eyes had dried. The late hour hid their puffiness, and the redness of her face could be blamed on the harsh air. “The king calls you to the council room.”

The bastard. He cornered her, and he knew it. Could he not approach her himself to make more fleeting promises? She nodded, pushing away from the wall to follow the young dwarf.

A few other counsellors took up space in the room, as well as a number of guards clad fully in armor with their spears and swords drawn. The tension in the room was thick. As soon as Cori spotted Thorin again, she strode toward him. When he noticed her scowl, his face softened in spite of the officials surrounding him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, noting the apprehension they all shared and displayed openly.

“You were…” Thorin sighed, looking as if he had taken a slap to the face. “There was a breach in the Royal Halls. The guards were knocked out at the stairs, and the lock on our bedchambers was nearly broken before back-up came.”

She raised her chin. “Who was it?”

He nodded with pursed lips.

“Don’t feel bad. By all means, you have to protect the integrity of your fellow dwarf superiors that have shown nothing but love for you.”

He had the compulsion to lower his head. “No one was up there, and he was alone. We do not know exactly what he was after.”

“We think he panicked when you got away from him with his plans,” Balin continued.

“He would’ve restrained me, but we were next to a busy passageway that would’ve heard me scream. He tried to trap me in the armory.”

“You seemed to him a sure asset,” Thorin said. “Did he say why?”

“He thought I was a naïve little girl that would see sense in his ‘truth.’ And also disregard his blatant slurs. He knew way too much about me. He’s been watching me since we got here.”

“You must’ve given him some reason to think you would conspire against me.”

She sneered. “It does you little credit to put the blame on others, Your Majesty.”

“I never said actively.” He was growing agitated. “And it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. There’s no evidence to tie him to the assassination attempts unless he confesses to it publicly, so he will only be charged with trespassing and assault. Because he is not a citizen of this kingdom, he will be transported back to Ered Luin for trial.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all we can do.” His fingers gently touched her arm. “Now you must be accompanied wherever you go in the kingdom. You are a threat now that you’re not a possible ally, and he was not alone. Somebody could retaliate. Or consider it an accomplishment of the mission to take you out. Both lead to an end I will not allow.”

Her teeth ground together. So instead of the problem being solved, things were just worse. Foolish to think this struggle could be put to rest as simply as shooting an arrow into someone’s face. Once again, he cornered her: she risked a show of rebellion to the king in front of his advisors. She would split his ears when they were alone.

“Security has been tripled on our rooms,” he said. “Balin can take you back there. I have to attend to this.”

She nodded, eyes cast downward submissively. No arguments. She was tired. Before she could turn away, a large arm curled around her shoulders and pulled her face against his coat. She instinctively cuddled into the fur. His breath fanned over her forehead. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this, darling.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, slipping out from beneath him and following after the older dwarf.

The late hour emptied the halls to a few passersby. Unsurprisingly, most they passed openly tossed around the news. When they stopped to watch the hobbit and dwarf go along their way, they stared with curious, unreadable expressions. A number of them, with their typical heavy brows, hit her particularly hard, and she remembered that she did not know who Iren had also been working with. Going about with protection seemed like a valid option after all.

“Thorin’ll do everything to keep you safe, lassie,” Balin consoled as she dug her key into the shiny new lock in the door to her bedchambers.

“I’m not the one they’re really after.”

He smiled softly at her. “No one’s succeeded yet in the decades he’s been king, even when there were threats before now. I’d be a little daunted at the task of taking _him_ out.”

“Does it really mean that much?” she asked. “Dwarven tradition. Is it worth killing over?”

He sighed into his long beard, shaking his head. “When you’ve been moving from place to place with barely a cent to your name, those traditions become your own possessions. They’re all you have to identify yourself by. The need to protect who you are is strong, too much for some to fight against. But in all things, kinship should be stronger. No, lass. It isn’t normal to wish what few brothers you have left dead.”

After the Battle Out of Oatbarton, the dwarves bonded with the hobbits when they combined forces to stop a shared enemy. The budding friendships around the fires on the way back to the Shire were open and promising. They had never met each other, but they all became brothers and sisters of the sword and bow. Dwarves picked meticulously who they wanted in their comradery, but they knew that they could find support outside themselves. Iren was not typical. Bern and all those soldiers were.

“He asked me to kill him, Balin,” she mumbled softly, biting her lip. “To betray him in our bed.”

He reached out and pulled her hand between both of his, patting it. “Then he underestimated the loyalty of hobbits. They are more honorable than those like him will ever be.”

She smiled gratefully into his kind face before turning to descend into her room and the safe bed.

*************************

The nerve of the dwarf!

After scolding her like a little faunt for running off into the night, leaving a note behind her, he up and took off the morning after Iren was captured as if their usual daily parting would be enough. She had to learn from Dwalin when she ate lunch alone that Thorin took an unexpected trip to Dale to discuss recent events with Bard.

“He expects to be back after supper,” he supplied. “He would’ve told you about an overnight trip.”

Some good those predictions were in the end. A raven showed up at eight in the evening informing them that that talks had run longer than anticipated and that they would not be back until the following evening. The proceedings concerning Iren were to be carried out anyway: a caravan heading west would start out early with the dwarf so justice could be served with his own lord. Cori was glad. Despite the danger he would be leaving behind, the mountain seemed safer without the perpetrator behind all the attacks.

She believed it to be true, even if there was no solid proof. She heard the words out of his mouth.

Concerning Thorin, she was pissed. If he did not want to reconcile, he at least could be up front. He only dug a deeper hole. Was that even possible in this bottomless pit of a city?

She had no desire to go anywhere in it after all, putting aside her constraints. She sat by the light of the window with a book open in her lap, but she did not see the words on the pages. And it was there that she finally opened her eyes. She stared around at the stone walls and the lavish furniture, and her breaths became restricted and painful. It felt like waking up.

What had she been thinking? A hobbit of the rolling green hills, flourishing forests, and warm, sun-soaked earth living out the rest of her days in a place like this? And yet, she had not been satisfied with those things either. Why in all of Arda did she think she would be able to find a home in dead stone and darkness? She could go against the society of the Shire all she liked: rewrite her role as a female and broaden the economic horizons for all her kind. But then she tried to modify her own biology. It was pointless. All the adaptability she had in the world could not make her feel comfortable in a cave with only mere slivers of sunlight to stand in for a few moments a day.

Try something new and see if it worked. Had that been her intention all along? Or what? Oh, yes, ride across the world for love, like some old romance tale she might find in her mother’s collection. Deny herself and her freedom, and she could have the one that she loved. It was a trade she vowed never to make. But, in the end, she truly had been willing to put aside her autonomy for a man.

_No,_ she thought with the resolute voice in her mind that rarely reflected the lack of confidence she truly felt. She got up from her seat and tossed the book onto Thorin’s desk. _I will survive under any condition that we conduct this relationship, even if it’s from afar. But I’ll die in this tomb._

She had little time to run over her plan to address the problem before the doors to her chambers—Thorin’s chambers—crawled open. As soon as she saw his face, hard and disgruntled as it was, she felt her resolve weaken. Her heart beat like she saw him for the first time, except this time falling madly in love with this handsome stranger right on the spot. But she caught herself. Enough was enough.

When he looked up at her standing in the middle of the room as he shut the door, he stopped and stared. His expression did not change.

“Appreciate the note,” she mumbled.

With a sigh, he tossed his bag aside and leaned against the chair by the fireplace. “I hadn’t intended on staying long, but something else came up while we were there. Would you like to know who I saw in Dale?”

She waited without a cue.

“Thranduil had business with Bard, so it seemed. We conversed, as you might imagine. And a little more than that. See, Kíli knows when I need to be informed of something. You, on the other hand…”

She glared at the ground. It was selfish to ask that of the lad anyway. “I can handle the elf.”

“Clearly, which is why you did his bidding. Anyway, there will not be war, but the treaty is broken. He has made it clear he will hurt you to get to me. You won’t have to see him again, if you don’t want to.”

“The chances are slim anyway.”

 The ice melted from his eyes, and his brow drew in concern.

“We need to talk,” she murmured, holding herself in check against the impulse to grab him instead.

He nodded. “Yes, we do. But I’ve been gone for two days. Are you just going to stand there?”

“Yes, because once I touch you, I won’t have the strength to go through with this anymore.”

He tensed, and his throat worked in a hard swallow. His eyes grew terrified. Only a few seconds passed before that look disappeared, and his jaw clenched with a click of teeth. “No. I believe you are resilient enough to do it anyway.”

Giver be merciful, that hurt more than if he acted clueless and denied it. He anticipated her next move. This was bound to happen, it seemed.

“Allow me a moment of selfishness,” he requested quietly. “Is it too late to beg you to stay?”

Her eyes stung. She forced out the next words as if they were not her own. “It won’t be what I want.”

He nodded. Then he chuckled without humor, staring blankly into the fireplace. “I suppose it was selfish of either of us to vow never to put anything before the other. It was excellently romantic to think about, that I could actually put aside this kingdom to be with you. But we have obligations to ourselves and others.” He turned back to her, eyes shimmering in the light.

“It’s me, Thorin,” she whispered, coming out more as a whimper. This was harder than she thought. “It’s nothing you did.”

He snorted. “I am part of the reason because I am king of this mountain, and I damn every forefather I can think of right now for forcing that onto me. I cannot lay aside my duties so easily as I thought—Fíli is not ready for the throne—and so long as I have it, a city full of people will never leave me in peace. I am trapped, _khajimele_ , as I have confessed to you countless times. But you are not. You came back to me, and we tried. The only thing I can offer you is a way out.”

The ache spread through her chest and into her stomach, tightening until she thought she would be sick. The fight drained out of her immediately. “You want me to go?”

“You are suffering here.” He gradually lost the strength in his voice. “You are pale, and thinning, and bereft of any energy at all. And that spark. Your spirit is your allure. I adore your tenacity, and even that condescension. Mahal, it drives me up a wall, but if I need to be put in my place, then I won’t despair of it. I only wish that our children could have had it, if it did for them what it has done for you.”

The tears could not be stopped any longer, and she realized exactly what was happening. _Come on, you coward!_ she screamed at herself. _This is exactly what you can’t let happen! He can’t control you!_

_I can’t control myself if I don’t know what to do._

“You need the sun,” he continued, measured steps drawing him closer to her, “and the grass and the forests, and I can give you everything you could ever want if you were a dwarf, but I can’t give you what _you_ really need. This mountain is not safe for you, so _I_ am not safe for you.”

“If I gave a horse’s arse about safety, we never would’ve met.”

He hummed. “I must be glad for that, then. But I cannot let it win this time.”

“Tell me I shouldn’t do this.”

“Then you are a prisoner here.”

Time. It was all she truly needed. A little while on her own, away from the deteriorating air of Mirkwood and squabbling, resentful dwarves, and she might decide that everything was in her head. That it all had moved just a little too fast for the hobbit. Crowns and glory took some getting used to, if she was ever meant for them at all.

Then she startled at the thought of the opposite. If she could not take to them with such incentive as she had before her now, would she ever?

“When?” he asked.

She sniffed, pulling away just enough to see his face. “Bard is going on a hunt soon. He invited me.”

He nodded. Then he leaned down and kissed her. The delicate touch brushed over her lips with all the room she needed to back off when she wanted. It did not plead or convey any kind of persuasion. It was a simple imparting of feeling: “just so you know.” If only she could be so sure of the longevity of their partnership; the roadblocks masked her foresight.

Thorin abruptly pulled away and, without looking at her, strode swiftly from the room, closing the door behind him. She took in a shaky breath, staring after him, possibly waiting for him to come back. He did not. She closed her eyes and let a few more drops fall.

_This is all your doing. Live with it._

*******************

Bard’s hunt started two days after. Cori nearly panicked. Not nearly enough time.

The King of Dale insisted on bringing his procession to the mountain to pick her up: the unofficial nature of their arrival kept them out against Thorin’s travel ban, but they were also eager to get out into the wilderness before all the animals ducked in for the winter. It would accomplish a good show for the people anyway. The morning of departure, a band of a dozen guards surrounding Bard and his son Bain stood at the far side of the bridge, awaiting the hobbit.

Once she left with them, she would not turn back. What she would collect from the hunt would be enough to start up her business again, were that her final choice. She expected a great deal of time would pass before she returned, even if it was not as long as her last postponement. A clear-headed decision required it.

In the meantime, she pulled another stunt from Bree during the company’s big haul west. The only one who knew the true nature of her departure was Thorin. The rest of the mountain had no idea, though they assumed her leaving would have to be important since she was allowed out of the mountain in the first place. The others would learn in time, and possibly grow to resent her for it after she just found her way to Erebor. Fíli’s talent for persuasion scared her in the face of her wavering command of her inclinations. They would blame themselves, no matter how much she tried to convince them otherwise; she preferred not to be around to see that part, the bitter coward in her admitted.

Keeping her emotions in check proved harder for her at their departure, but what did she expect? They were her only reason to stay, after all. But she would be gone for a week at the most, in their minds. No need to get teary over that. In fact, they were excited for her to go, which made it worse.

The only one that seemed to doubt anything was Dís. The woman was vigilant; no doubt, despite all the times Cori had proven her feelings for Dís’s family, she still held a measure of skepticism, protective as she was. They spent a good deal of time together in the months that Cori lived in the mountain, and plenty to get a read on the hobbit. If Cori seemed a little less enthusiastic about leaving Erebor, even for a week after jumping at the opportunity to go to Mirkwood, it was worth suspecting. But Dís said nothing, only smiling at her with her striking and inquisitive eyes and bidding her happy hunting.

The kiss she bestowed on Thorin was chaste and appropriate for the audience (as it reinforced their ruse). She would not have done anything more anyway. No need for a reminder of what she would be missing. That she got the night before.

Cori intended from the moment she decided to leave that she would not let her desire for him make it any worse. She made it until late in their last night lying in bed. They stared at each other in silence for a long time until Thorin’s arduous day pulled his eyes shut. An hour later, she was still awake and staring at the deep lines in his face. Her gaze fell to his slightly parted lips, and she snapped. As soon as she clasped both hands over his face, his eyes flew open. Apologies flew off her tongue as she covered his forehead and nose with kisses. He accepted her anyway. Disagreements and such would come to them no matter what. Their relationship was not the issue; they proved that.

“Come back,” he whispered as the others retreated to their respective duties. “At some point, if not soon.”

She nodded. It would have been the plan anyway, if she had never fallen in love with him. “Don’t wait for me, Your Majesty.”

His brow scrunched incredulously. “Who else would I turn to? It is you, _khajimele._ It always will be. My chambers, my bed: yours, wherever you choose to make your home.”

Their chance for a real life together was spent. He would be lonely after so long. He would grow tired of her fluidity. She did not expect him to deny himself that if he found it. She just wanted to let him know he had her endorsement.

The cold air outside the gate filled her lungs, and she sighed at the blue sky and blinding sun reflecting off the snow and into her face. The wind ruffled the fur of her coat and hat and tossed Shadow’s mane around. It blew south toward Dale, and then Long Lake. It was the direction Bard informed her they would go. She would be following it, a leaf cast off against its will once again.

The rumble of the gates traveled through the ground and rattled painfully in her body. She chose to look back as she crossed the bridge toward the group of Men. Her eyes traveled upward toward the battlements, then looked away quickly. She should have expected him to be up there. She would probably feel that burning stare on her back until they disappeared into Dale.

“You look fitter for travel this time,” Bard greeted her cordially. He craned his neck to look at the pack on her saddle. “Quite a bit more.”

“Blankets and things,” she murmured.

He nodded, satisfied. “Well, we have plenty to spare. We won’t let you freeze.”

She smiled, expanding it to his son next to him who she had yet to meet. A kind boy, he seemed, but with the same nobleness his father inherently carried. Thorin’s reign would no doubt extend into Bain’s long after Bard stepped down. In that, he would have another worthy ally.

They turned from Erebor and rode back through the valley toward the city. Childishly, as she was prone to do, Cori put from her mind the inevitable end result of this trip. Hiding from her responsibilities and pretending like nothing she did would have consequences on others seemed to be her innate response for when things were just not quite working out in her favor. She hid away in the Shire after avoiding all the people she cared about just because she had no retaliation for Thorin getting his way.

It was the beauty of wandering the road on her own. She could experience all the highs of life without any of the extra: knowing her family would take her in anytime she needed a place to stay, playing with her nieces and nephews without having to parent them herself, bouncing from town to town and mystifying young hobbit boys into a quick night. No cares. No worries. Living in the moment.

She looked up to the wide sky and the snow-covered plains in the distance and smiled. Maybe she gave up on the best years of her life a little too quickly. Was the pay-off truly worth it?

After passing through Dale and dipping down the slope toward the valley of the lake, she witnessed the same phenomenon from the Men that the dwarves exhibited. Bard was no stricter a king than Thorin was, casually riding along on his white-grey gelding and striking up a conversation with them every so often. His soldiers scattered to a reasonable distance and engaged in their own talks, always keeping an eye out on the land that had once been flooded with orcs. This was as much a vacation for them as it was for the king and prince; no wonder so many volunteered to come along to guard two men.

Along the way, Bard and Bain talked about the spot they would be hunting at. Apparently, Bard had taken the two of them on his boat to a specific alcove in the southern part of Long Lake that was concealed in a thick forest. A memorable father-son bonding experience, it sounded like. They also mentioned catching a great deal of fish during one trip that fed their struggling family for a few weeks over a winter. Cori jumped in with her own stories of watching the boatmen from the riverside when she was young.

“Hobbits typically don’t do water,” she said. “But Bucklanders use their resources. They got over that hump and now do a great deal of commercial fishing for neighboring towns across the water.”

“They would have been at home in Laketown,” Bain said with a smile.

Cori brought up the two nights she stayed in Laketown on her way to and from her first visit to the Iron Hills, much worse than traveling through Mirkwood. “You could keep your rickety floating boxes. You couldn’t pay me to step in that town again if I was desperate. I’m a little different from my kin, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Quite.” Bard smiled despite her scowl.

“I was sorry to hear about what happened with the dragon,” she continued, wishing it did not bring down the mood. “I know you’ve got it a little better now than you used to, but losing everything you’ve ever known…it’s rough. I get it.”

“Don’t know what would’ve happened if Da hadn’t stepped in,” Bain scowled into his horse’s mane. “It was bad enough. The dwarves could’ve done better.”

“I agree,” Bard replied, watching her closely.

“Not going to argue with you.” She held a hand up. “They haven’t the best foresight, for sure. But they aren’t blind to what happened. They’re willing to make recompense. You’ve got them on your side for a while now. The elves are a different story.”

Bard chuckled. “So I’ve heard.”

“How much of their squabble did you catch?”

“Not much. I hadn’t arrived to the room yet. I was certain they were a breath away from pulling their swords. Thorin was shouting the most. I did manage a quick run-down of what sparked the fuse. Not surprised to hear you were in the middle of it.”

“A little overdramatic from him. But Thranduil had it coming.”

“So he _did_ threaten you.”

“And Prince Kíli. He’s so bored in there, he’s got nothing better to do than poke at his allies for a little excitement. Or the forest getting to him. Nasty place, that.”

“The Old Forest Road runs through his territory. He has a right to put whatever restrictions he wishes on it.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t _need_ to. He could be helpful and contribute to the economy of the world he’s living in. But no, gotta make money to get his wine.”

“Think about all the people that live under his rule,” Bard said patiently. “The families that rely on him. The forest’s deterioration has caused a major decline in game. They have very little room to grow anything either. Thranduil was in Dale to discuss with me about some hogs and fowl; we wrapped up quickly after Thorin came. Don’t consider Thranduil as the center of that kingdom, but the many strong-willed hearts within it that keep it going despite what’s happening to their beloved forest.”

She had begun to sympathize with dwarves. The last thing she wanted was to pity elves who, with the Valar’s favor, deserved pity the least. But she knew the struggle to keep a whole population alive. At least, in her case, she had an end goal that was reachable: rehabilitation of the Shire. No one knew why the Greenwood turned sour, and obviously, the elves’ affinity for nature did nothing to heal it. And yet they carried on while their home rotted around them.

“I think, if they’re in such a pinch, he shouldn’t be antagonizing what could end up saving them in the end.”

Bard chuckled again. “Admit it, Miss Hobbit. Dwarves aren’t exactly the most pleasant folk to negotiate with.”

“Were you expecting me to say ‘no?’”

They camped that night at the halfway point of the lake. For once, the impulse to ask the hobbit for supper was not present, and all the same, she was glad for it. Might it have brought some levity to her ailing heart to ply her favorite trade? If it did not carry so many treacherous memories with it. In that thought, she found her melancholy again. Had she spoiled everything she ever esteemed now by trying to mix it with a life she could not fit into? So much for falling onto it for comfort. Now she would have to find something else to do with her time. Knit doilies, perhaps.

After supper, she sat and chewed on a piece of jerked meat from her own supply. She stared at the pointed peak to the north, silhouetted against the dark blue sky. If she kept looking at it, eventually she might feel nothing but that hint of wonder she always harbored when she passed by it on her travels. Best to start as soon as possible.

She closed her eyes and ducked her head when she realized she had given up almost entirely on returning.

“For one who favors the open, unhindered air, you seemed to be grieved by it.”

She lifted her head and laid it against a fist propped on her knee. Beside her, the mannish king stretched out his long legs and laid his sword across them. The naturally stern set of his face had softened a little, and his condoling smile pointed straight down at her. _Oh, great._

“No need to rehash old questions,” she mumbled, tightening her scarf around her neck. “You’d be stepping out of line again.”

“For one who came so far for that mountain, you take every opportunity to be out of it.”

“Leave it!” she hissed, nearly loud enough that anyone else in camp might catch it. Then she measured her breaths carefully because now was not the time to feed his imaginings. He would persist with that train of thought because he cared little for finding out the intricacies of dwarven society for himself. Thorin’s reputation would tarnish. Her next words were quiet. “Those dwarves are the only reason I’d stay there.”

His brow arched, but his prying face stayed the same. “I very much trust your judgment and your ability to know your own mind. So what you keep telling me is the whole truth? You wish only to be out.”

“Not all dwarves are so receptive. And there’s really no changing their minds. I know not to stay in a place I’m not welcome. It does no one any good, not just myself.”

“Without these things?”

She scoffed. “I’d probably be a wife by now.”

As silence passed between them, she let herself ponder the extensions of love Thorin had made to her. He loved her, she could say without doubt, and she loved him. What they shared would drag her back to that cave multiple times for the rest of her life and throw her into his arms, and she would be in bliss the whole time. It absolutely terrified her. And so she turned her back on it.

“Dale is open to you, Miss Houndberry,” he said with a small smile. “If you feel like the change of scenery is all you need.” Dropping a cloak onto her shoulders, he rose and strode back toward the fire.

It would be ideal. Close enough for a quick visit anytime she wanted. But it would not be so different than if she lived there, at least for the dwarves. It was too much temptation. But she chose not to close any doors just yet. Not so long as they remained opened of their own accord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite bleak, I know. Give it time.  
> Three more chapters. Almost done.


	19. One Step Ahead

Bard warned Cori not to stray too far from the company at any moment, as orcs still allegedly roamed the East in sparse but angry packs. With her bow and sword on her back, she felt confident to take a quick walk at dawn. The early-morning sentry sent her on her way with a flick of his hand when he saw her outfit. With some decent isolation from the camp, Cori sat down on a rock to watch the sunlight dance across Long Lake. A heavy fog hung over the water, concealing the far shore, but the light distribution brightened up the air faster than a clear morning.

It looked like home. Or the place her family still called home. The fog rolled in over the farm, sometimes thick enough to conceal the far corners of the fields. When she was extremely young, her father bounced her on his knee as they sat in the garden to welcome the new day. He never tarried long: a day full of busy work digging in those fields awaited, and each moment of sunlight was precious to a farmer. Her mother called her in to help make first breakfast not long after that.

Any letters sent from the Shire would still go to Erebor. She would not get them as long as she stayed out in the Wild. Maybe one of the dwarves would think to let her family know where she was. They would be worried again. She knew Barbarella had been pleased with the idea of her settling down, even if it was several hundred miles away and with a dwarf. Everything would go back to the way it was with them. She would have to return there eventually, just to show that she was alive. Her relationships had been going so well, too.

A lot of things seemed to have fallen into place there for a little while.

She had the option to return to Buckland. She tore herself away when she took off for Erebor, and the soreness stuck with her through the months of her journey until Thorin spread a balm over it. Her family would welcome her, and she would take them. She was thrilled at the idea of watching her baby brother’s own runt take shape. She could watch them all sprout. But the stability would not last. As much as the lands of her childhood sank back into her skin over the two years she stayed there, she had a goal pushing her to stay at the time even when she wanted to be somewhere else the whole time. Everything was fine. And she could be proud of the peace she helped to bring in, but could she endure it?

Maybe she just was not capable of sitting in one place. The road mixed in her blood more densely than she thought.

She sighed, exhausted with her thoughts already. They would be out hunting for a week. That was plenty of time to extend the process. Hasty decisions cost.

Pleasant memories were more inviting, and she drifted back to a camp along a river, pitched in a clearing just close enough to hear the trickling water. A cozy fire dried their damp clothes, and she sat in a borrowed tunic that, at that moment, rested in her saddlebags because she was a sentimental little piece of work. She pressed her back, sore from the rocks at the bottom of the river Lune, to a hot chest that scalded away the pain and wrapped around her like a cloak.

They kissed for the first time that night, alone, after narrowly escaping death from vengeful Men and a waterfall. He touched her in all the right places, and she wondered why they had waited for Bag End. Never in her life had someone set such a fire in her, and brought her so close to the edge by a touch of the hand alone. Those bulging, powerful arms had been safety to her long before that. She felt as if nothing could touch her, and she knew that nothing actually would.

Staring out across Long Lake, she bit her finger when her jaw threatened to quiver. “Yavanna, what have I done?”

_I am a hobbit,_ she thought, shaking her head at the validity of such a statement. _I’ve done nothing._

She got up from her rock and trudged back up the bank toward their camp hidden just in the trees. Another time, when his earth-shattering kiss did not still burn on her lips.

She stopped, as if a wall stood in her path. A voice, small but alarming, begged her to turn around and run. It was the exact same voice that whispered frantically at her when Ryone was near. It preluded a wash of terror down her spine.

But, once again, she had more than just her own life to think about.

King Bard knelt on the ground next to the fire, kept there by two dwarves grasping his shoulders and the knife to his neck that pulled a small trail of blood out of his skin. But his eyes did not reflect his situation: he seemed to always embody calm no matter what was happening. She drew on it. She had just walked into the same trap, and it would take all her will not to panic. His guards would be of no help, strewn about the place in unknown states of life or death. Bain was nowhere to be seen.

A sigh slowly fell out of her. Should have seen this coming. “Hello, Iren.”

The dark-haired dwarf grinned at her, which could have been interpreted as genuine if not for the force of henchmen standing around him, glaring her down. “Cori.” He got up from the stump he sat on, putting away the blade he used to dig dirt from his fingernails. “You’re here at last. We began to wonder if you had returned to the mountain.”

Another dwarf appeared from the woods behind him, and she shook her head. Mundan. _Birds of a back-stabbing feather._

“Heard you were on your way back home.”

Iren shrugged. “Didn’t think it was time to leave quite yet. My ‘companions’ had a little bit to say about that. Now they have nothing more to say.”

She swallowed, wondering how much pleasure was caused by senselessly throwing away life. A rather attractive venture, her life had demonstrated. She should have warned Bard about the influx of dwarf outcast activity. It completely slipped her mind, while she dwelt on her own woes. “Your fight’s with Thorin, isn’t it? Why bring in those who are just trying to do their jobs?”

“Dwarves pledge fealty only to those they place their trust in,” Mundan countered. “If they don’t count their leader among the wise, they would not take an oath to defend his life. All soldiers are included in that. If you hope to force your way into dwarven society, you should make a little more effort to learn about them. It’ll help you to know where to change things, for that’s your goal, is it not?”

“I’m not the one trying to rip up a centuries-old tradition.”

“Your mere presence does just that,” Iren said. “Though, I suppose I guessed correctly when we last spoke in Erebor. You truly don’t understand the brevity of the damage you are causing just by being here. I wonder…if we got rid of you, would that solve the problem?”

“Like anyone’s going to listen to you now. What are you hoping to gain here? You’re exposed.”

He strode toward her, large hands hooked onto his belt. “Not quite. I don’t make a habit of spouting out my plans to just anyone. When Thorin closed travel in and out of Erebor for the winter, I needed to find a way to get to my allies.” He gestured to the dwarves surrounding them. “I gave you just enough to get me in trouble, as if anyone worthwhile would’ve actually believed you. I must say, I’m somewhat impressed with the king: he hasn’t entirely sold his soul to you.”

“What part of what you told me were lies? Is Dáin really trying to overthrow Thorin?”

He scoffed. “Dáin is too busy chasing outcasts around his lands to worry about what Thorin’s doing. Besides, the majority of Durin’s folk follow Thorin like a sheep to a shepherd, as if he will save us all against what’s amassing in the south. Dáin will not be the one to speak out when tradition’s against him. I couldn’t tell you whether he really wants the throne, but I’ve never spoken with him.”

She raised her brow. “So you’re the one leading all this mess?”

“We’re a well-organized group of like-minded thinkers. If tradition threatens tradition, it’s time to make changes where necessary. I think I can abide alliance with a non-dwarf for the sake of the greater good. Or at least coercion to bring out the usefulness in you.”

“You’ll never step foot back in that mountain again. They’ll take you out at the gate.”

“Now, that,” he pointed at her, “is where you’re wrong, dear hobbit. See, I don’t choose my allies based on one task they might perform for me. Killing Thorin in his bedchambers would have made the transition from king-to-king much smoother, especially when getting rid of the princes, as grief-stricken as they would be over their uncle and your betrayal. But if I needed nothing more from you, I would not have told you anything close to my plans. You’re right that I will not be able to get into Erebor through the gate, so long as it is guarded. So you’re going to help me.”

“It sounds less enticing than the first offer.”

“Oh, I’m not offering.” He gestured to the side, and a section of the dwarf circle around them parted. Two more passed through it, dragging something.

Cori let out a strangled noise. “Lizzy.”

Strung up between the two dirty ruffians, her face settled into a snarl that looked much more ferocious than the rest of her inferred. When they stopped, she strained forward, and even attempted to kick out at one of their knees, but they forced her to the ground without much effort. She tossed her blonde hair out of her face and looked up. The vehemence retreated, and she suddenly looked her age. “Cori.”

“Ah.” Iren smiled between them. “So you do know each other. This’ll work better than I thought, then.”

Cori sent the girl a quick wink before turning her sneer back to the dwarf. For a while, she considered the idea that he could not possibly stoop any lower than he already had by calling for his king’s death in such a debasing way. To bargain with a child? One had no redemption from that. “What do you want?”

“I want the easiest way into the mountain. No guile, or they both die.”

“And what makes you think I know anything? Thorin and I haven’t exactly had the time to spend with each other, thanks to you. Like he shares insignificant stuff like that anyway.”

The blade resting against Lizzy’s throat dug deeper, pulling a cry from her. Cori strained, her nails biting into her palms.

“The first thing Thorin’s going to do is make sure you know how to get out of the city in case of an attack,” Iren said with a smirk. “Whether or not he’s introduced them in that way, you’re smart enough to put the pieces together. Now, if you’re really that intelligent, you would know I’m not bluffing.” His finger twitched, and the dwarf holding the knife lifted it to Lizzy’s cheek. The sharp steel made a small slit in her cheek, and her yelp bounced off the trees.

She bowed her head and cast a silent apology back to Thorin. “The gate isn’t your way, then.”

“The hidden door,” said Mundan. A sickening smile had nestled in his unkempt beard. “Everyone knows it won’t open without the key.”

“Thorin keeps it in a box in his bedchambers,” she replied.

Iren held his hand out to her. “Which you will have much better luck getting than I did.”

“But the hidden door leads down into the lower halls,” she interrupted. “Specifically close to the treasury. You think it’s not guarded day and night? Those soldiers will slow you down, and then you’ll bottleneck in there. Plenty of time for more soldiers to show up.”

“Then what is your real suggestion?”

She glanced toward Bard. He held no judgment in his eyes, just awaiting her next move. He trusted her with this.

“There is a passage that leads you directly to the Royal Halls. No guards except the ones at the stairs leading into the corridor from the rest of the mountain.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“It’s a drain that empties water from the River Running into an underground lake accessible only through the Royal Halls.”

“It’s real,” Mundan said when Iren turned to him for confirmation. “A heated pool for the family and invited guests. I presume he took you down there.”

She nodded. “The outside of the drain has steel bars on it.”

“Not a problem. We have an answer for that. Dwarves cannot be master craftsmen if they are unable to undo their own work.”

_Says the race who makes doors they can’t find._ They would be perfectly capable of stopping the water flow, then. She had no idea how long the water traveled through the tunnel until it reached the cavern, nor its proximity to their chambers, but her and Thorin’s were not deep in the mountain, having the option of windows. It would have to be long enough to pass by the forges, though.

Iren paced toward Lizzy, tossing the information around in his head. When he stopped at her, he placed his hand on her shoulder and turned to Cori. “You’re sure we can get in?”

“Like I said, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You haven’t got very many other options. It’s a fortress.”

“Our own,” he repeated with a piercing glare.

“There. You have what you wanted. I think it’s high time you show yourself to have the honor of a true dwarf.”

He nodded. “You’re right. Then they don’t die.” He gestured to Bard and Lizzy. “Tie them up, and make sure the men are all dead. And find the runt prince!”

_More loopholes than an elf,_ she thought as a dwarf grabbed her and knotted a rope around her wrists. Of course, it was partially her fault. He said he would not kill them if she gave up everything, but nothing about letting them go. She had a few seconds before he slit the throats of the King of Dale and her best friend; she could be forgiven this once.

“What more use am I to you?” she asked. “I’m a little stiff with a sword, so I can’t fight for you. What else do I have?”

He smirked. “You have the fool’s heart. He’ll do anything if we wave a blade at you, like step away from the throne.”

She froze when she realized he was right.

“In the meantime, you’re going to show us the gate, just so we can say you assisted us that far. You might be quite popular now, but wait until your supporters find out exactly how you deceived them.”

They had to, if she was going to reverse everything she had done so far.

**************************

Iren and his band of outcasts, with their captives, made camp just south of Dale that night. From what Cori gathered so far, they planned to skirt around the city and follow her directions to the drain by the river. By her guess, they would scope it out, check for weaknesses and plan for the tools they would need, and return with a larger force, because the one he had with them would not be taking over an entire mountain full of warriors. Now that there were witnesses to the little debacle in the woods, he would have to work quickly in order to get the job done before anyone alerted the mountain. Which meant Cori had an even tighter time constraint.

As the dwarves roused a roaring fire for the night, scarfing down a rowdy meal before settling down for a few hours of sleep, the three subdued figures shivered in the harsh wind several feet from the fire and in full view of the camp. The hobbits sat on either side of the Man, and he insisted that they huddle close to him when the disappearance of the sun zapped any warmth away from the land. They had been stripped of their weapons, which were wrapped up in a sack next to one of the dwarves’ saddlebags. Cori and Lizzy had their hands in front of them while Bard’s was behind him, tied to the tree they sat against. _Insulting,_ Cori thought as she dug around in her shirt for the spare knife she kept in a custom pocket in her stays. Fíli taught her a thing or two about being prepared in a pinch.

“Where’s Bain?” she whispered to Bard, masked by an uproarious guffaw from the fire.

“Gone,” he said with a small smile. “Standard protocol. Anything like this happens to me, he’s to return home and bring back help. He took two guards with him.”

“They don’t know about his plan. They won’t expect us to be this close to the city, and they’ll shoot wide.”

He nodded down at her. “So long as Dale has a king, that is all that matters.”

No regard for his own life. All he cared about was making sure his son lived. She wondered what exactly having children did to a parent’s mind that forced all self-preservation out of them. Of all the magic she had witnessed, there was nothing quite like it.

“I’m counting on _you_ to get _us_ out, though,” he said with a grin. “Since you seem to have a plan.”

“Thanks.” She grinned up at him, genuinely appreciative that her talents received some acknowledgement. Though it seemed the wrong people always took note first.

“I should’ve known,” Lizzy said from Bard’s other side, shaking her head. Her eyes glared straight at Iren. “He was shady from the moment we jumped on with him at the East Road. I felt it coming off him like a bad stink. What happened?”

“He had another agenda,” Cori replied. “One that didn’t involve us to begin with, but that just seems to happen. That reminds me: why in all of Middle-earth are you here, girl?”

Lizzy blushed. “I followed you.”

Cori sighed, leaning her head back against the tree. She should have seen it coming. The young hobbit was a mirror image of her, and she had yet to decide if Cori was the one directly at fault for that. Lizzy was as sheepish and unassuming as they come when they met, requiring only a small spark to light her fuse. Cori lit it. But no matter what protective instincts drove her to berate herself for leading that girl to a place she never should have been, it would now be her ticket to fixing the crap she caused.

“Well, since you’re here, I’ve got a job for you. Bard, you mind?” You pulled the knife from her stays, keeping the metal hidden from the firelight so none of the inebriated dwarves caught its glint. Leaning over the Man’s lap and gesturing for the other hobbit to do the same, she passed the knife over. “Cut yourself free and get to the mountain.”

Lizzy’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You gotta listen to me now.” Cori moved in closer. “They aren’t going to let us loose until they attack Erebor, and I’ve just released them onto the entire city. I have no idea what kind of force Iren’s got, but I’ve caught wind of restless exiled dwarves near the Iron Hills. There’s a lot, from what I can tell. Bard and I are valuable to him because he can call for a ransom for both of us, but he’ll kill you for certain.”

The girl gnawed at her lip, but she nodded in understanding.

“Get free and go tell Thorin what’s happening. Don’t let the guards at the gate deter you. Make a scene, scream, until Thorin comes out to meet with you. He’ll listen, I promise. Tell him they’re coming in through the pool in the Royal Halls. He’ll know. They’ll be able to stop Iren before he does any damage.” A flash of hesitation passed through her eyes, and Cori grabbed her hand through their awkward position. “I’m so sorry, honey, but if you don’t get to the mountain—if you stay here with us—a lot of people are going to die, and…and it’ll be my fault. So please. I’m counting on you.”

She saw the moment on Lizzy’s face that she knew she put the fate of the Lonely Mountain in the right hands. She had no doubts. “Trust me,” Lizzy said before flipping the knife and slicing frantically at her binds.

“Wait until they fall asleep,” Bard whispered to her before turning back to Cori. “So do I.”

Boy, if only she felt the confidence of having a king’s full trust in her.

At some point, Cori drifted off with her head leant against Bard’s chest, as content as she could be in her position with the warmth from his body. She almost missed the opportune moment. She jerked alert to a cacophony of loud snores, an all too familiar occurrence, and scanned the campsite. The fire had dimmed, though that made little difference when their captors all saw brilliantly in the dark. There was a sentry up, but he was in a precarious position. The forest they were in opened up to a wide plain to the west—the tops of Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains rose up against the night sky—which needed to be closely watched for intruders. But they tied up the captives on the opposite side of camp. His head twisted back and forth multiple times in the minute that Cori had been awake.

Undisciplined like a soldier watching over a king, however, he gave in to the crick in his neck that he earned from it, and eventually stared straight ahead for a time. Since his body was turned toward the opening, that was where his gaze went from then on.

Cori whipped her head to the side, catching eyes with Lizzy. She nodded and, perfectly prepared to take off that moment, jumped up with her hands free, the knife still gripped in them, and one last apologetic glance in their direction. Her hobbit feet carried her silently north into the woods, her dark clothing melting into the trees. Cori grinned. She never felt more like a proud mama hobbit of the little warrior she trained.

Quickly, the two remaining captives placed the scratchy burlap sack they had been given as a cover on the now vacant spot, bunching it up to give the appearance of a body beneath it. Bard shifted his legs that way, which drew the lookout’s attention, but Cori snuggled her head into the Man’s chest, adjusting for a more comfortable sleeping position. When she opened her eyes, the dwarf had returned to the opening in the forest.

Bard looked down at her, nodding in reassurance. She did the same, opting for some more sleep.

The following morning met with outrage. The dwarves had overslept, apparently, and they found their sentry with his nose in his beard, too. Everything only got better when they discovered the empty space beneath the sack and the missing captive that was long gone by that point. And a kick in the ribs was what Cori woke up to. She gasped against the pain and clung onto the body next to her. Bard growled in a way she had never heard from a Man before, hunching over her to stare into Iren’s face with fiery malice.

“You’re such annoying little rats,” Mundan sneered at her, his nose twitching in indignation. “Slippery buggers without a lick of sense. If you think we’ve got anything to worry about from that little tenderfoot, you‘re wrong. There’s wargs about, or did you not hear them last night? And you know what follows them.”

Cori squeezed her eyes shut, reminding herself that it was either death by wargs or by Iren for Lizzy. The wargs would be quick. But she had faith. Lizzy met orcs in her travels the same as Cori did, and she came out on the other side in one piece.

“Enough, Mundan,” Iren called, slinging his pack over his back. “Save as much of your honor as you have left. She’s not a threat, bound as she is. You’re kicking a pup.”

Mundan would have done more damage, but he apparently heeled to Iren.

With swords pressed to their backs, Cori and Bard continued forward with the dwarves toward the Lonely Mountain. They passed wide around Dale and exited the valley long before they came in proper sight of the gates of Erebor. At that point, they put Cori in front, with a blade still poking her spine, and told her to lead them straight to the drain. Their pace was quick; the dwarves were taking no chances with a loose captive and several witnesses. If Lizzy stopped to catch her breath, and maybe a few minutes of sleep, Cori could not fault her. The journey over the mountains had clearly taken its toll on the girl, and they had not been given any food; Cori’s clenching stomach was long forgotten. Lizzy might only have been reaching the gates by that point.

There was very little room to lead the dwarves astray, as they just followed the curves of the mountain and the bank of the river. Finally, they reached the alcove that Cori visited with Fíli and Kíli. The drain was in place, alone. What little hope she held out for an ambush vanished. Those blockheads might not have enough thought to cover from the outside, but she conceded that the advantage came with cornering them in close quarters.

“That’s it,” she gestured to it with her bound hands when Iren came up beside her. “It’s tall enough all the way down for a dwarf, if he crouches. It widens further in, I think; the hole in the cave is bigger than that.”

One of the dwarves splashed up to the entrance through the shallows of the river, peering inside. He pulled against the metal bars, testing. Whatever he was looking for, he found satisfactory, turning with a positive hand signal toward the rest of the group.

“Well done,” Iren said to her with a grin. Then he bent a little closer. “You know, this is nothing personal. I find you a captivating creature, Miss Houndberry, with skills I haven’t seen in your people before. You would be very useful were you to join us. But, alas, you’ve chosen your side in this: an old king wanting nothing more than a beautiful young wife to display at his side and, and I presume, skillfully warm his bed. Your intellect and stealth are traits that do not belong to a queen, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” she bit back, “if I don’t meet _your_ standards for a queen. I wasn’t looking to be yours anyway.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It has truly been a pleasure knowing you.”

She shrugged. “Wish I could say the same.”

The aloof smile on his face remained as he reached down to his belt and pulled out a water canteen. He uncorked it and handed it over to her. “We will return to our primary camp and await Thorin’s answer on the ransom. For now…”

Her parched mouth begged desperately for a drink, so she tossed it back. The moment the liquid hit her tongue, and Bard shouted out for her to stop, she knew she reached a new level of stupidity.

She tried to spit out the foul drink, but a large gulp had slipped passed in her frantic scramble for it. She tossed the canteen at Iren and aimed a gob at him. He lithely danced out of the way, grinning at her. “Not a worry. I said I needed you alive, and I meant it. It’s only a precaution; I figured you would be easier baggage to carry than to drag along behind.”

Her head spun, and she tried to run through a list of plants that she might have just ingested. A whole sleuth of them had the potency to put a full grown Man out with the amount she took in. She stumbled to her knees and dry heaved, but the damage was done anyway. She came to rest on the cold, frozen ground, heavy lids pulling down with a force she had never experienced before.

She thought she saw a familiar silhouette: tall, draped in furs, long hair fanning out behind him. But a little voice in her said he was not coming.

_You were a fool to push him away._

_I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't come out the way I wanted, but I'll leave it to my perfectionist mind to wail over. Gotta call it a day at some point.  
> Two more chapters (I finished the last one last night, and I'm so happy!)


	20. It's You

Cori knew where she was before she opened her eyes.

Water trickled against smooth stones nearby. The warm summer air buzzed with the insects hidden in the trees, singing their annual songs. A breeze feathered through the branches, wafting the remnants of a sweet pie from the same direction that an uproar of children’s voices jingled in laughter. Cori almost tasted the tart flavor of blackberries.

A presence that she had not noticed before shifted beside her, and she opened her eyes. Her sight filled immediately with Thorin staring down at her. Behind him, the Brandywine flowed toward the south and a smial’s chimney smoked. The sun just touched the tops of the trees on the opposite bank. She opened her mouth to ask him what they were doing there, but no sound came. He did not seem concerned with her wordless mouthing. He just studied her face with that intent on learning all he could of her from that. He used it many times before when he thought she was not looking.

Should she not have been somewhere else? But there was nowhere else she wanted to be, where the soft grass tickled her hands and wrists and jolly music cascaded down the bank from the tavern. And Thorin was next to her, his head leant back and eyes closed, soaking in the sun. A content smile arced through his beard.

The cropped beard he had when they met.

“Mama!” said an enthusiastic voice that she had never heard before but would have sworn on her parents’ graves that she knew it. It was aimed at her. But no matter how much she wanted to turn her head and look for the proof of that thrilling idea sprouting in her mind, all she could do was stare at Thorin. The noble born-to-be king, dressed down and looking as unkingly as she could possibly imagine.

“We should go home,” his rumbling murmur echoed, and she took a moment to comprehend his words through her silent admiration.

Home. Where was that again? She thought about her smial on Berry Bunch Bend, but it belonged to her parents. Her mind jumped from the small cottage by the Brandywine to a cavernous stone hallway lined with torches to a campfire underneath a tree overlooking the distant Blue Mountains. Before she could settle on one place, Thorin rose up from the ground and held a hand out to her.

And she suddenly forgot what all the fuss was about. Did it matter that she could not picture a place? So long as her head laid next to his, she could care less where they were. Yavanna, even if they stayed right there next to the river!

But she blinked, and everything fell away. A bitter cold wind picked up the furs wrapped around her body, tickling her nose. Before her sat a campfire sizzling as snowflakes fell into it. A pot of stew bubbled above the flames. She looked up over it and caught eyes with Fíli seated on the other side. Only, he was _much_ older. The intensity of his gaze made her squirm; even after learning that she was responsible for the deaths of many dwarves, he did not harbor such a look for her. The flickering light caught the hard lines in his face, and glinted off the crown on his head. Thorin’s crown. “You’re lost,” he stated simply and a deeper tone than she was used to, and she heard him clearer than she heard Thorin.

“No, I’m not,” she replied, though she did not hear her own voice. “You found me.”

“Where are you?”

She looked around. They sat alone within a cluster of pine trees, the snow piling up around them. A cliff dropped down nearby, and an endless forest spread out into the horizon at the bottom. It had to be Mirkwood. But where was Erebor? “I…I don’t know. Don’t you know?”

He chuckled with a small shake of his head. Then he got up and walked off into the woods, vanishing into the darkness before she could get up and run after him.

“Fíli, wait!” Her breathing quickened. She had never felt such loneliness as what crept into her heart, and never had she so feared being alone. Her eyes started to water before her mind caught up: the only reason Fíli would be wearing that crown while displaying such age was because Thorin was gone. Dead. It mattered little how he died. Cori had not been there. She had been…

_Lost._

Before her eyes flashed a tomb, presumably deep in the heart of Erebor. The inscriptions on the plinths were in dwarves runes, but she understood them, and cried out.

_Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór._

_Kíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin._

_Dwalin, son of Fundin._

_Balin, son f Fundin._

_Why do you care so much about a bunch of dead dwarves?_

_I wasn’t there!_

Her eyes flew open, and immediately, they screwed shut again. The sudden light and reverberating shout that sounded a great deal like hers drove spikes of pain through her head. Her throat scratched horrifically, and she tasted blood. She tried to lift her arms, but they resisted and protested with fierce twinges. The surface she lay on was cold and hard, and the air was musty. _Where could I possibly be now?_

The rhythmic thumping of boots retrieved her attention when she surrendered to the heaviness in her body and prepared to drift off to sleep again. Her head weighed more, but she had an incorrigible need that did not let her give in this time. Just as she managed to curl up into a sitting position, hand pressed to her mouth against the sudden nausea, a shadow cast over her from the right. She looked and, through steel bars partially driven obstinately into the rock above and below it, a wide figure appeared, blocking the torchlight. She squinted up into their face: most of it was blocked by a thick helmet. A whole suit of armor sat resolutely on their body. A dwarven guard.

_A dungeon?_

“What’re you squealin’ ‘bout?” he growled, glaring her down with his ax propped beneath his arm. She recognized the armor immediately. Iron Hills.

The Brandywine and the campfire sat fuzzily in her mind. None of that ever happened. They were not memories. Suddenly, she remembered the drain at the base of the Lonely Mountain. The acrid drink. Iren.

“How did I get here?” she asked, blinking repeatedly when her vision wavered. Her tumbling stomach had not let up.

He chuckled throatily. “Slept right through it, you did, I s’pose. Nabbed you up with your little friends.”

“Friends?” She rubbed her head. Iren’s band of exiled outcasts. Iren said something about taking her somewhere. “Where were we?”

He rolled his eyes. “Couple miles from the gate, some cave up against a cliff. Not the best hiding spot, though I don’t s’pose you had anything to do with that decision.”

“Why am I in here?”

“Why do you think?” he snorted, turning back down the hall. “Caught trespassing with outcasts, this is where you end up.”

“But I wasn’t with them!” She snarled against the thumping in her head, but attempted to rise from the floor anyway. She stumbled and grabbed onto the bars. “Wait! This is a mistake!”

“Hush up, girly!” cackled a different voice nearby. It came from the cell next to hers. A number of laughs down the line echoed it. “They ain’t going to believe a word from your trap!”

“I need to tell you something!” she screamed, then coughed when her throat constricted against the strain. She tried again, but nothing came except a wheeze. Her head spun violently, and she sank to the floor with a jarring thud. She closed her eyes and leaned against the bars, breathing through the pain and Iren’s disgusting poison raging through her body.

Somebody would find out about her eventually; a hobbit in a dwarf dungeon typically incited a second look. But it might have been too late by then. It already was, she conceded. The journey from Erebor to the Iron Hills was two days, depending on speed. She could not have been with the exiles for long, but she had no way of knowing the extent of that drink’s affect. It was plenty of time for Iren to launch his attack. Lizzy should have gotten to Thorin by then, provided his guards gave her little trouble. But, as they learned from the attack taking place when she first arrived at Erebor, there was no knowing how large Iren’s forces were. Even in their leader’s absence, they might try to besiege the mountain.

When Cori opened her eyes again, she did not know how much time passed. What was moments could have been hours in confinement. She tried to focus on the water drips nearby, or latch onto the occasional cough from down the row, but she longed for more sleep. She felt sick and gross.

Iron clanged abruptly right above her, and she startled. A different guard leaned into her cell, wordlessly placing a bowl and a mug on the floor next to her feet. She pulled her tongue from where it stuck to the roof of her mouth and tried to force out a sound, but nothing came. With all her strength, she lifted her hand and waved at the guard as she reached for the mug with the other. Praise Mahal, he stopped and waited as she sipped and winced at warm water against her raw throat. “Whatchu want?” he grumbled.

She set the mug down hard and relaxed back against the immobile bars, all her strength spent. “Attack on Erebor,” she croaked out.

Where the other one might have dismissed her ramblings, this one narrowed his eyes at her and stepped closer. “What?”

“Someone’s…planning to attack the Lonely Mountain. They know how to…get in undetected. They might’ve already done it.”

He snorted. “That’s a mighty feat you’re suggesting.”

She coughed. “Please. Just tell Lord Dáin. The king’s in danger.”

Whether or not he believed her, he still hesitated. As he locked up her cell again, gaze lingering on her briefly before striding purposefully back down the corridor, she had a good idea that her words would nag him until he gave in and sought out his lord. Who wanted to be the one caught withholding such a tip if it were true? She grinned. It would be done.

Thorin would be safe. He had to be. He had to live.

“Cori.”

Her spine shivered at the positively indecent voice that so often spiked her arousal before he even touched her. She opened her eyes, and there he was, sitting on the floor across the cell from her. The smirk was devious and lewd, but bursting with affection. It was the face that accompanied a warm tease. His legs were bent and spread apart, the perfect amount of space in between them for her to snuggle in. But she could not move.

“How did you get…” she whispered, her breath dying out before she could finish. Her lungs strained, like trying to find air through thick smoke.

“I’m not here,” he said quietly, the smirk changing into a gentle smile. “You know that.”

“But…” The word was a squeak, and she tried nothing after that. She willed her body to lift off the bars and crawl to him, and it actually worked. She shuffled over the cold floor, but as she drew nearer to him, her bare skin caught the heat that always rolled off him like an open flame. It lured her in like a cozy hearth. _If you’re not here, why can I feel you?_ Her palm reached for his knee, and what she found was solid.

When she looked up, she was no longer in the cell, and not even in the dungeon. Instead, she kneeled in the great front hall of Erebor. The gate was to her left, and statues of dwarves, mighty even in death, lined the walls. There were no torches like usual, and she saw only the faint outlines of the pillars and gigantic tapestries all around her in what little moonlight cast through the opening above the gates.

Her eyes shifted downward, curious about the cloth and flesh both her hands grasped onto, and she screamed.

Thorin lay on his back, staring up at her with pain contorting his face, and a dark stain spreading across the tunic over his chest. A bloody knife lay on the ground next to his hand. He took it out.

“Thorin!” she called, her voice breaking when a sob overtook it. She pressed the heels of her palms to the wound and pushed hard. He gritted his teeth and growled, but stayed limp. He shook his head.

“Darling, no.” A small drop of blood bloomed from his lips.

“‘No’ what, you great oaf?” She pressed as hard as she could, glancing around for anyone that would hear her cry for help. Tears blurred what little she could see in the dark. When she felt his finger brush the underside of her wrist, she looked back down at him. “This isn’t happening.”

“I love you,” he whispered, the quietest tear sliding down toward his temple.

“If you did, you’d stay,” she whimpered pathetically, finally lifting her hands and, ignoring the blood staining them, reached up to cradle his neck. She placed his head in her lap and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. He closed them and smiled contently, as if unaware of the shining puddle forming around his body. “We’re not done,” she sobbed, brushing the backs of her fingers over his cheekbone.

He opened his eyes and turned them to her. “You won’t have to worry…about anything anymore. Politicians and…cramped caves. You are free.”

“You’re worth it.” She had never been surer of anything in her life. “I’d face down an army for you, stupid dwarf.”

He grinned. “I know.” The breath filled his marred chest one more time, and then he closed his eyes as it left.

A gaping hole split her heart wide open.

“Thorin!” She cupped his cheeks and furiously rubbed her thumbs into the hollows beside his nose. “No, no, love, you can’t do this! No!” Her shoulders shook violently, and she held onto his jacket and all the life in her he was taking with him. “Thorin, please!” She wept openly and shamelessly, leaning over him and laying her cheek against his warm neck.

_What now?_

She did not know and cared less about finding out. It did not matter. She tried to look beyond the sudden shift in her curvy road, but there was nothing. It continued on endlessly in a straight line, into a flat horizon. There was nothing to strive for any longer.

There was no point to trying to make her own path when it only made her miserable. She could lead her own life by taking what she wanted the most, all other obstacles be damned. And she wanted Thorin Oakenshield.

Darkness sucked her into a soundless, timeless void. Thorin was gone. Erebor was gone. She heard and saw nothing. It was peaceful, where she could not feel the emptiness that her stolen heart left.

At some point, it all stopped. A sound like a voice echoed through her head, incoherent but heavy in tone. She instinctively followed it, even though the further she went, the more discomfort she found. She felt something touch her face, then her neck, and warmth surrounded her. It made surrendering to the darkness again easy and very desirable, but she was done with it. So she braced against it and ran.

The moment she awoke, she recognized the soft linen beneath her and thick fur covering her body. She thought of a stone floor and cold steel against her cheek, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. Instead, a feather pillow cradled her aching head. To her left, she heard cloth shuffling—somebody walking around. She turned to it to listen closer, bearing against the weight on her eyelids that begged her to keep them closed. She saw a washbasin and pitcher on a table next to the bed, a cloth draped over the side of it. The grey fur tucked around her body tickled her nose every time she moved, and though her sneeze was weak, it wracked through her body with the force of a charging pony. She moaned and squeezed her eyes against the thumping in her head.

“Easy, dear,” said a deep female voice as the shuffling came closer. She peeked again, catching the inviting eyes of a fire-haired dwarrowdam smiling down at her. “Aye, I figured you’d come around soon. Your fever broke not too long ago. S’pose that poison’s run its course.”

Cori blinked and turned to look around the room. She recognized it from her last stay in the Iron Hills. “Wasn’t I…?”

A bouncy, bellowing cackle filled the room, and both she and the dam turned as Dáin Ironfoot stomped into the room. That spark in his eyes and grin was something of a comfort to see. “Aye, lassie. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, you’d been in the dungeon for a day before I had you pulled out. When they told me they’d nicked a bunch o’ exiles from inside the borders, they failed to mention the extra piece with ‘em. When I was told a prisoner kept mumbling about Thorin being in danger, I have to say, I didn’t think my gut would actually be right naming the tattler.”

When Cori struggled to swallow to say more, the dam helped her sip down a smooth, warm drink mixed with honey that settled comfortably in her stomach. “How long have I been in here?”

“A day and a night. Many of us don’t know much about hobbits, but we figured you shared the inclination toward the sniffles and a tumbling stomach. Feverish screaming’s a bit alarming, though, so barring the fact that I knew you, we would’ve brought you to the infirmary after that show.”

She perked up. “Screaming?”

He nodded gravely. “It’s what brought Brair to me to tell me about Erebor. You were shouting Thorin’s name like he was killing you. Pretty unlikely you were calling for my Thorin.”

_He might as well have been._ She pushed her hands beneath her on the bed and rose just enough for the dam to prop a pillow behind her on the headboard. She appreciated that neither of them tried to stop her. “Any news from Erebor?”

His smile returned. “Well, did you expect me to tell you that the mountain’s got a new king or something? Did you need another demonstration of dwarven might?”

She giggled, coughing when her throat smarted. “It was dwarves against dwarves.”

“And a tragic set of circumstances for that, no mistakes. But you’ll be glad to know Durin’s line still stands strong, and the bastard responsible is dead.”

She closed her eyes and let out a breath. It was a slim relief; Iren had hordes of followers, just like Ryone did. They had to take the chance that the rest of them would scatter to the wind just the same. Just because he was gone, however, did not mean his ambitions fell, too. But if she let that threat settle in the back of her mind, too, she would be paranoid for the rest of her days. That scum deserved what he got, and no more of her time. “They were ready for it.”

“Aye. Stopped ‘em before they even got into the Royal Halls. I heard, once that small passage to the blue cave was blocked up with bodies, the rest had to turn back and get out before they were flanked. Unfortunately for them, that’s exactly what happened. Only a handful slipped out into the wilderness. No lives lost from Erebor.”

So she had not killed anyone. Everyone was all right. “Did you hear anything about another hobbit there?”

He chuckled. “Figured that might come up. Aye. A little golden-haired lass has taken up one of the chambers for royal-selected guests. Don’t suppose you have anything to do with that.”

She smiled fondly and shook her head. “I’ve got everything to do with that one.”

Dáin left her shortly after a small conversation that included an apology from her. He was not surprised that his name had come up as a potential threat to Thorin’s position; a few critics of the current monarch stoutly praised Dáin’s superior qualities for leadership, but he always shot them down immediately with his stalwart loyalty to his cousin.

“That old git can have the mountain,” he laughed. “I’ll stay content with my little hovel here.”

With no one but her nurse there, it was easy for her to drift back to sleep, daunted only momentarily by the threat of a sudden reprieve of that dream. She rested uninterrupted.

Trina, the kind and attentive dam, told her it was morning the next time she awoke. She helped her rise out of bed to stretch her stiff legs, and if not for a firm grip on the bed post, Cori would have crumbled to the ground while Trina changed the sheets. Her muscles nearly trembled with the strain, and she could not remember a time she felt so weak.

“It was a double affliction,” Trina explained. “The poison put you under a fever, which caused your hallucinations, but then you picked up an illness along the way. Being out in that snow, no doubt. But look at you now. It’s no wonder you shrugged it all off. You’ve got some fight in you yet.”

She took the compliment and let it puff her up a little. For once, she felt like she deserved it after everything.

But there was one thing she would never be deserving of.

She was still walking around with easy, nearly shuffling steps, when the door opened. Trina swung around with a snarl on her lips against whoever had the stones to barge in, but the air seemed to be sucked entirely out of her lungs, allowing only two words. “Your Majesty.”

Cori, one trembling hand propped on the foot of the bed, stopped and stared across the room at him. He gawked in return, wide eyes drifting down her body covered in a knee-length tunic. He was pale, with deep dark crescents beneath his eyes. Despite it all, he looked absolutely impeccable.

She probably looked sickly, just arisen out of a coma, but he took her in like the rarest gem he pulled from the earth himself.

“ _Amrâlimê._ ” The word slipped from his lips in the purest reverence, and he crossed the room in three full strides before it even finished. His urgency faded when he touched her, hands cupping her cheeks as if she would shatter like a glass vase. She covered them with hers, leaning into him. His heat soaked into her clammy skin, and he was everywhere.

His kiss was just as delicate, but hardly lacking in the passion that swirled in his terrified eyes. In all this madness, and in the troubles that she incited herself, his love prevailed. They had been strained and pulled to the point of breaking, but he promised aloud—and she echoed it in her heart—that he was hers eternally. She had proof. It was time to acknowledge that loyalty.

“I’m a fool,” she whispered against his lips when they finally broke free. She grasped his coat lapels as hard as she could. In spite of what she was about to say, she could not let him go just yet.

“You are infuriatingly ambivalent for one who so often challenges other’s opinions. But please, enlighten me on where you think you actually fall short.”

She snorted. “Excuse you, but I know what I want. I just…can’t decide if they’re my own desires.”

He lifted a brow almost flippantly. “Have you been struck by gold sickness, dear one?”

“Dwarf sickness,” she grinned with a wink.

He sighed and frowned, smoothing his hands over her shoulders. “I have never wanted to drive you mad.”

“Neither has the gold. It just happens, and we’re powerless against it.” She leaned her cheek into his chest, calmed by the rhythmic thumping beneath it. “I struggle with deciding what I need.”

“And what do you imagine you need the most?”

“To wake up.” She smiled up into his face. “And realize that I can’t have everything that I want. I need to be happy with what I’ve got.”

“We all do, my young beloved.” He kissed her forehead. “How does that make you a fool?”

“I sent a horde of vengeful dwarves right into the heart of what makes me truly happy.”

He caught her beneath the arms when her legs shook, gently placing her on the edge of the bed. When he sat down next to her, he gathered her hands in between his, swallowing them up. “Take no responsibility for the actions of others.”

“Thorin, I told him how to get in. I gave him access to our cave.”

“You would not have if you didn’t think we could handle the situation. You put your faith in us. And by doing that, you saved two innocent lives. King Bard will never let Dale forget what you’ve done.”

She sighed, suddenly a little dizzier than she was before. “Great. Everyone will know.”

“That you sent somebody to warn us before the attack came? Of course, they will know that.”

“Is she all right?”

He grinned. “Shaken, but unharmed, though that lash on her cheek needed a few stitches.”

She swallowed thickly. Her smart mouth gave Lizzy that cut. “How did Bard escape?”

“An excellent stealth team took out his captors while they were camped out just east of Dale. Unfortunately, Iren was not with them, so they were not able to halt the operation before it began.”

She wanted to know what happened with the attack, how long it took, and if there was any damage. But it was over, and she had little energy to care. If she could erase it all from her mind, by Yavanna, she would do it in a heartbeat. An unexpected sniffle wracked her fragile body, making the sob worse. “Why do all these lunatics want me?” she whispered, clutching to his tunic. “What do I have that’s so valuable to them? Why me?”

“You have the biggest and stoutest heart in all of Middle-earth. Anyone who looks on you will know immediately that you can conquer kingdoms if you set your mind to it. You already have. It’s quite intimidating, actually. And that kind of drive is valuable to the right person, if they can get you to think the way they do.”

“Why assume that I’d give up my convictions so easily?”

“You are aware of the reputation that hobbits have among the other races, aren’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. Who would know better but her?

“Innocent equates to naiveté, according to some. Their biggest mistake was assuming that was true in the first place, and then expecting you to fall into line. If they had only seen what I’ve seen from both you and Bilbo, they would know how dangerous you really are.”

Thorin talked like hobbits were capable of toppling castles. In the beginning, with forces and the element of surprise, they might metaphorically achieve that. No hobbit, her included, had any ambitions to be ruling anybody.

She wondered if she could learn to.

“Dáin said some of Iren’s goons got away. And now that weak point in the mountain has been exposed to a lot of dwarves.”

“We will address it without having to close it up completely. There are no weak spots in Erebor, and you will do well not to accuse us of leaving ourselves wide open to attack.”

She snickered. “You know, that mountain’s caused you more than enough trouble for a lifetime. Nearly dying by a dragon and orcs and being targeted for forceful dethronement. If I were you, I’d be a little resentful.”

“You know what else has caused me an endless stream of problems from the moment I learned of it?” He tapped the tip of her nose. “And I will still defend it with my life all the same.”

She bit the inside of her cheek because the idea of somebody sacrificing themselves for her remained foreign after so many years later. “I know I don’t have a sickness,” she retreated back to their original conversation. “But, Mahal, Thorin, you’ve got a hold on me like I’ve never felt before. And every time I walk away, you keep dragging me back to you. The more it happens, the more I realize that I should listen to that and stop running. I’m chasing after something that doesn’t exist, because all I’ll ever need…” She slipped her hand from his grasp and pressed it to the left side of his chest. “…is right here.”

Tenderness bloomed across his face and, sliding a hand into the loose hair on the back of her head, pulled her to him. The touch of his kiss felt like a road sign pointing in exactly the direction she was going, affirming her choice. Maybe she was not entirely incompetent in making decisions after all.

“I also need a physical home,” she said, giggling when he momentarily chased after her mouth. “After that mattress and pillows of yours, the ground doesn’t agree with me anymore. I’m getting old.”

He chuckled, smoothing his thumb over the corner of her eye where crinkles lived in his. “You are in no condition to be talking about getting old, my love, ill as you are at the moment and very much youthful all other times.”

There was nothing she enjoyed more than inciting the greys in his hair to bristle. “I heard of a place that I’ll always be welcomed in.”

His eyes teased, but his smile was genuine. “Oh, yeah?”

She reached up and savored his lips. “Take me home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cori finally pulls her head out of the sand and realizes she's got it made with her dwarf. Old news, hon. We coulda told you that ages ago.
> 
> Anyway, rushed climax is rushed. I hate the pace of these last few chapters, but I've been ready to be done with this story for a while and get to the good stuff like happy fluffy times and *ahem* babies. I've put them through enough hell already (though that doesn't rule out more angsty moments, you think a relationship this tumultuous will be smooth sailing for all time?)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, even throughout this crazy school term that's kept me away for weeks at a time. :)


	21. Loyalty

When Cori opened her eyes, she immediately recognized the scent surrounding her. Thorin, mixed with the essences that he washed his hair with. The smell clung to his pillow, more specifically his entire side of the bed in the king’s royal bedchambers. After waking up a number of mornings to find, at some point during the passionate whirlwind that swept them up the night before, they had switched places, Cori knew exactly where she was. As expected, the fireplace with the twin axes hanging over the mantel crackled across the room, casting a warm glow over the smooth walls. The two chairs and table sat in front of it. Everything was in its place, as if she never left.

But there was something different about it. She put aside the knowledge of where she was and focused on the space itself. It gave her a soothing respite, coaxed by the familiarity. The numerous heirlooms and adornments throughout the room made it feel lived in; hobbits could tell where others made their homes. This place provided a strong wall against crushing outside forces: not just physical might, but a psychological separation from a sense overload. It was fit for a king not because of its luxuriousness, but for the purpose it served. It was the most special place in the whole mountain.

She was just about to roll over and check the rest of the room to make sure everything was in its proper place, but the object of her musings moved into her view from around the curtain bunched at the bottom bed post. Thorin was dressed for a regular day attending to his duties. He smiled, coming to stand next to her. “Good afternoon.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What time is it?” Her voice rasped, and she coughed against the tickle.

“Just after three.”

She slept through the entire morning she had been at Erebor? She vaguely remembered coming into the gates and Thorin assisting her off Shadow, the pleasant and relieving surprise he had ridden to the Iron Hills. After that, a lot cut out before she was stripped and lowered into a hot bath. Thorin might have carried her from the bath chambers to the bed; she was still naked under the blankets. She could not recall any other faces except his.

“Your fever returned at about noon yesterday, when the temperature dropped and the snow fell again.” He touched two fingers to her exposed cheek, then her forehead. “I knew it was a risk taking you out into that weather, but another storm was threatening. It’s blizzard conditions out there now. You were a little delirious when we brought you up, but the fever subsided not long after you went to sleep.”

She was still weak leaving the Iron Hills. The poison seemed to have no lasting effects on her, but whatever she caught in the snow clung on tightly. A cold settled in her lungs before they set out, and a slight rattle still came with every breath. “Guess you had to lug some useless, broken goods the rest of the way.”

He chuckled. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he bent at the waist and pecked her lips. “Nothing I can’t mend. The finished product will be spectacular.”

She hoped he did not actually count on anything being whole and functional at any point. But if he wanted the damaged stuff, she was more than happy to put it in his capable, skillful hands. She arched up as best as she could, aware of each muscle in her body pulling and protesting the movement. Once she managed the small kiss to his nose, her strength held on long enough for her to sit and prop up against the pillows. She pulled the fur up over her breasts and tucked them under her arms. When she held a tiny hand out, he placed his in it, watching her trace the creases idly. “We were wrong.”

“Were we?”

She nodded. “We don’t need to sacrifice our lives for each other. That’s now how we put each other first. We need to blend our devotion into what exists in our life already. Construct our paths around each other.”

He watched her tentatively, urging her on with small brushes of his thumb to her hand.

“You are king, and a lot of people count on you. They will follow you, even when others give them reason not to. It’s not as easy as shoving it to the side and pretending it doesn’t exist. But it can’t consume you either. You can…plan to cut your day short and spend a full evening with me. Or something like that. And I can take a break from digging in the garden to sit with you for a time on the bench. It’s the little things, right?”

As she spoke, rambling while her well-formulated thoughts scrambled like grasshoppers, a wide grin slowly lifted the corners of his mouth. She stopped short, her fingers quietly playing with his while she waited for something to give her a push.

She chose to be blunt. “Why are you smiling?”

He lifted a brow. “You just gave me many reasons to put aside my fears that you will leave again one day. While it’s still a possibility—and you are free to choose that path if you wish it—I will ignore that and pretend that you will be in my life for as long as it lasts. I need that. I can’t tell you all the things in me that broke when you rode away.”

He would never say something to her that was intended to punish. He was being entirely open and honest with her because the Valar knew that they said so many things to each other since she arrived in Erebor, but rarely the things that needed to be told. It did hurt to hear the words, but she needed them, too. And she would accept her penance.

“I gave up too quickly.” She winced against the burn in her eyes and swallowed. “And I’m sorry that I lost faith. But we can work. I know it. It’ll take time, and a lot of effort. But Mahal, you’re worth it.” She stretched her arms out and pulled him against her. Her hands dug into his hair, fresh with a wash and cedarwood oil. He was gentle with her aching body, but the little kisses he spread across her shoulder and up her neck made up for it.

“If you believe that,” he said, pulling back a little until their noses touched, “then I will not stop you. You achieve what you want, even with the world set against you. I only want to make sure that you are free to choose what you wish.”

“You are my freedom. Because I’m going to have you, no matter what anyone else says.”

His grin reached his eyes, the tiniest chuckle shaking in his chest. “Marry me, then.”

Her breath stuttered. How many times had she played that in her head over the years, with his voice and all? It did not compare.

“Cori, you know I’ve wanted to for a very long time now.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out her pendant. She left it in its box that resided in their bedside table before leaving the mountain. “I never told you what this says.”

“I know. Bern told me.”

He did not seem shocked by that. “It is my promise. My own hands mined and crafted this, and I put all my love for you in it. I am yours anyway. At your word, I would have fallen to my knees before you, surrounded by my soldiers and our defeated enemy at the gates, all those months ago.”

Cori stared at his entirely serious face as he slipped the chain on the pendent around her neck and clasped it in the back. It hung right where it should have been all along: over her heart. She touched a finger to the stone in the middle, mesmerized by the glimmer from the bright firelight.

“Not a very romantic time for marriage proposals, that.”

He laughed loudly, cupping a hand over her cheek. “Are you sure? A smooth victory is a very easy way to get a dwarf in the mood.”

“Yes.”

As he continued to chuckle, he took a moment to catch up. The wait was worth it. Pure, unchallenged joy. She could not contain her cheerful giggle.

“Are you…?” he breathed, gaze searching in her eyes.

“Yes.” She leaned forward and laid her arms on his shoulders. “I’ll marry you.”

He pulled her against his body, locking her in that splendid embrace. It filled her with giddiness and excitement, but it had been that way from the beginning. He was right. It would only be a formality, the ceremony that would bind them before the kingdom and their family. They were one already.

“I would lay you down and take you right now, if I wasn’t afraid you’d crumble to pieces.”

She laughed, pressing her lips to his cheekbone before rearing back to look at his brilliant blues. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

“Aye, there will.” The promise in his voice was almost too much to ignore. But so was the ache and heaviness of her body.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and gingerly kissed the scraped knuckles. “Anything, love.”

*************************

As soon as Cori was able to leave their chambers for an extended period of time, she was summoned to court. She heeded gladly. It was time to put an end to this.

Thorin filled her in on what the proceedings would be like before he left that morning. They wanted to try her involvement with Iren after some suspicious sequences of events came together rather convincingly (when she heard them, she had to concede that it looked bad). Thorin assured her that there would be nothing to worry about truly. There was enough evidence in her favor that they would barely get passed the traditional number of questions and probes, and they had nothing definitive to put her through an actual trial. Once they decided on her innocence, Thorin would request they make a public profession of it. The city would have one less piece of leverage over her.

To her surprise, her escort to the courtroom was Nori. She had only seen Lizzy and Thorin’s family since she arrived back to the mountain. He was just the dwarf she wanted to see.

“When you go all out, you don’t hold back,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, yes. I absolutely planned on being kidnapped so I could learn Iren’s schemes and foil them.”

“Sometimes, you gotta do whatcha gotta do.”

“Do things just fall into your lap all the time?”

“Oh, aye. I’ve got a fair amount o’ luck on my side, or someone upstairs _really_ likes me. The trick is to put yourself everywhere so you don’t miss a thing. That’s why I’ve got eyes and ears in every nook and cranny we can find.”

“Some good they did when Iren was breaking into our bedchambers and, you know, plotting Thorin’s murder.”

“I’ll tell you what now, little missy. My efficiency’s going to save your pretty little arse today. I’ll have you know that an eye of mine happened upon an intriguing little meeting between the king’s most adamant opposition and his charming lady love. There’s more than one way into the armory.”

She jerked her head toward him, mouth agape. “Somebody was there?”

“He’s got Iren’s confession and your refusal. Managed to jot down a good bit of the conversation, too. A quicker hand than me with a pen, he is.”

She grinned. Every little bit of assurance helped. “Thank you, Nori.”

“Ah.” He waved her off, pinching her nose. “You’ve had a rough time of it, lass. Truly, and I can’t say I use that word often. There’s no one more deserving of a break than you. I still expect you to keep one, or preferably both, eyes on our big dwarf from now on. We haven’t seen the last of a plot like that. I’ll be sure to update you with anything I dig up. Mahal knows Thorin’s going to pull another stunt like this time just so you don’t worry.”

It sounded like Thorin to do that, and he was not going to get off as easily next time. She had to trust him that he would make good on his promise to initiate _communication_ between them, but she had to be prepared, too. A dwarf wielded a shield for their significant other at all times, just in case.

She owed it to him, too, to make a conscious effort. It would be a feat, as rampant as the problem was between both of them, if they could actually pull off a successful marriage. She was eager to find out.

Nori led her into the court room and stood her at the head of the table, just as she had done the last time. He did not stay, leaving her with a positive grin.

The counsellors all sat in the same seats they usually did, with Thorin facing her at the other end of the table and Balin to his right. The general consensus from the room was that she was in big trouble. That pissed her off and steeled her spine.

“This is an informal interrogation,” Thorin announced before anyone could beat him to the first word. She recognized that it was for her, but she knew Thorin; he wanted to establish ground rules for those with their minds already set. “Nothing will be decided except whether or not to proceed with an official trial.”

All seemed in compliance.

“Here we are again, Miss Houndberry.” The pretentious voice and pouty glare were quite familiar. This dwarf headed her last interrogation. In his eyes, she was no more than a contagious disease that very much needed eradicating. “I say that every piece of evidence gathered from the day of your arrival until now should be set out on the table. There is obviously a theme here.”

“She was cleared the first time around,” a dam interrupted, surprisingly antagonistic of her fellow counselor. “I don’t see how reviving those accusations would solidify anything.”

“Brought together with everything that occurred after that, they can be quite convincing, Lady Mertha.”

“Before we examine anything, we will hear her response to our questions.” Thorin glanced between the two of them. From the moment Cori walked in, he leaned on one elbow set against the tabletop, fingers pressed to his lips. A very casual recline. Thorin was taking no crap from anyone.

“My apologies, my king,” piped in another dwarf. “But I do believe you are biased in this situation. Wouldn’t it be best to proceed with an objective view all around?”

Cori tried to mentally prepare herself for if Thorin had to leave the room. She would end this meeting a shivering mess without his solid presence across from her.

“I will be asking for facts, Lord Hirn. Not a performance to tug at the heartstrings. I cannot possibly influence her answers.”

The dwarf shut his mouth. Was there anyone in this group that actually had the stones to challenge him more than once?

“The council sees a need to question your involvement with Iren, son of Irror,” Thorin recited to her. “We require honor and honesty in all your responses. Do you swear it?”

“I swear it.”

“What was your association with Iren?”

“He escorted me from the Easterfarthing of the Shire to Erebor, starting six months ago. We had no contact before that. We parted ways in the Wilderland, and I arrived to the Lonely Mountain a day after.”

“He vouched for you when you were questioned upon your arrival,” Lady Mertha stated. “Do you know why he would feel the need to do so?”

“At the time, he said he supported my innocence and didn’t want me to be wrongly accused of anything. But he…the day he broke into the Royal Halls, he tried to convince me to join his cause. I believe he faked acquaintanceship to earn my trust.”

“You were seen with him that day, going into the armory alone,” Hirn butted in.

“That was when he made his move on me.”

“What says it was not a meeting of allies?”

“A witness to the scene.” Thorin held up a piece of parchment. “An officer under the command of my appointed head of intelligence, Nori, has come forward with narration for the encounter. Iren took responsibility for the attacks on the state and indeed tried to recruit Miss Houndberry. She blatantly refused and left the scene. She came to me immediately afterward and reported everything that happened, which falls in line with the witness.”

“Where were you when Iren broke into the king’s chambers?” another dwarf asked. The majority expressions across the table were blank in contemplation.

“On the battlements.”

“I had two guards at the gate for witnesses as well,” Thorin jumped in, clearly trying to speed things up for her. “And one escort that found her there not long after she left this room after her report.”

Silence passed through the room as papers shuffled. Cori tapped her foot in time with her racing heart.

“Miss Houndberry,” Balin broke it, his blank mask secured onto his face. “Do you confess to aiding Iren in locating an unguarded point through which to enter the mountain? Did you inform him of the shoot leading into the blue pool in the Royal Halls?”

She clasped her hands behind her back to halt their shaking. “Yes, I did.”

A low murmur rumbled over the table.

“Were you under duress?”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

“They were holding a knife to the throat of King Bard of Dale, as well as a close friend of mine. That’s a very persuading predicament. Iren threatened to…torture and kill them if I did not give him a viable answer. I could have given him a ruse, but if we did not escape in time before he discovered I’d lied, I feared that the other two, including myself, would be in danger again.”

“I must say that the cavern itself is a good dodge,” spoke a new dwarf. “The door leading into the Royal Chambers would have effectively blocked them long enough for them to be discovered.”

“Have the king and the friend spoken of this?” Mertha asked Thorin.

He nodded. “Both confirmed. The friend, Lisianthus, alerted us of the attack, according to her, at Miss Houndberry’s behest. She stayed behind with Iren to stall for time that Miss Corkpolter needed to reach the mountain.”

That was not necessarily going through her head at the time—if all three of them got up and left, it would have made for an abrupt wake-up call for the rest of camp—but she would take whatever got her out of that room.

“Miss Houndberry was poisoned by Iren,” another dam said matter-of-factly.

“Aye. Two physicians confirmed.”

Cori tried to suppress her grin, but it persisted (last minute, she made sure to look down her nose at the grumpy ones in the room).

Balin stood, throwing his shoulders back. “I have concluded that there is no solid evidence to support the proposition that Miss Cori Houndberry was in league with Iren, son of Irror. All in favor say ‘aye.’”

The majority parroted. Cori’s chest deflated.

Her long, arduous walk with Thorin’s council had not ended, and probably would be much more difficult after the betrothal was announced. But she had yet another victory under her belt and a step forward with the rest of the mountain. She would work hard to make sure her future subjects had every reason to trust her.

She almost fainted at the thought of “subjects.”

**************************

A private gathering occurred in the royal family’s dining hall, a celebration of their victory against Iren and Cori’s safe return. Thorin’s devout Company showed up with their families, filling the room with rowdy laughter and plenty of stories to keep the chatter lively until dawn. Lizzy stared wide-eyed at the impressive arm-wrestling match taking place between Dwalin and Dori, and Cori laughed over the rim of her wine goblet.

“They could break me in half,” the girl muttered, and Cori doubled over, nearly spilling her drink.

“The sooner you learn that, the better. Never, and I mean _never_ , challenge them to a fight. It’s like us against a Man’s horse or something.”

“I mean, I thought they were pretty strong during the battle two years ago, but…”

“Training is tougher, remember? Challenge yourself so you’re prepared for anything? You haven’t seen anything until they start showing off in their little friendly bouts. Be warned: strength isn’t the only thing they compare.”

This time, Lizzy nearly choked. Then, amid Cori’s wheezing laugh that delved into a coughing fit, the girl seemed to acquire an epiphany. “Oh, Yavanna, you would know what one looks like.”

This time, the expansive meal had been a collaborative effort between Cori and Bombur, and she finally had him convinced that she could make a dish to rival something of his. He admitted that the royals’ meals were in good hands so long as she supervised.

Conversation leapt from one typical yet interesting topic to another. One that Cori was intrigued by was Thranduil. According to Bard, the elf found a gathering of Iren’s followers hanging out just south of Long Lake along the River Running and, after a rather convincing interrogation that naturally lacked a good bit of detail, learned who they were and took them out. This was the day before Iren’s attack. Without the intervention, their numbers may have been significantly greater.

“You suggestin’ that we wouldnae been able to hold them off if the elf hadn’t swooped in?” No one challenged Dwalin’s tipsy anger, but they all knew the small advantages were oftentimes the ones that counted in war. No one would outright thank Thranduil for the assistance, including Cori, but it had been acknowledged. Civility would remain between Erebor and Mirkwood until they could come to an agreement that might reestablish the peace treaty.

Unfortunately, the one to suffer the most was Kíli. Though he put on a brave, jolly face for the celebration, Cori knew he hurt deeply. Tauriel most likely would not have been welcomed in the mountain before, even less so than Cori was, but it would be near impossible for her to come peacefully without inciting a riot. Least of all, no one would be pleased to hear of the youngest prince’s relations to her. They would figure out a way to make it work and, like the two kingdoms, had a probability of peace between their peoples to look forward to.

Cori planned to make a good few social calls to Tauriel for sharing recipes and herb knowledge that would require Kíli to accompany her.

After everyone had their fill, and many still nibbled on what was left over, they sat around the hearth in a wide half-circle for a calmer ale to let their food settle. With some of the candles blown out and the fireplace roaring, the atmosphere was drowsy and comfortable. Cori, nearly lulled to sleep, lounged against Thorin’s chest as he reclined on a sofa they squeezed onto with Lizzy curled up and nodding off at their feet. When they opted for a small, half-hearted toast in her honor, for whatever reason they came up with while she was not listening, she smiled around at their gathering.

“Don’t know what we’d do without ye, lass,” Dwalin murmured from his very low slump in the chair directly to the left.

“Continue on as pretty as you please, probably.”

“You need to stop getting yourself into some much trouble and giving us all coronaries.” Kíli worried himself into a mood. At the moment, he had very little bite in his rebuke. “And stop, for the love of Mahal, running off into the wilderness! It’d be a pain in the arse to leave the cozy warm mountain to chase after you again, but if Lizzy hadn’t shown up, I’d’ve done just that. Pesky little thing.”

She snickered. “What would you have done if I didn’t come quietly?”

He sighed, clearly deciding that his go-to response would have been void. “Taken up the road with you, I guess.”

“Lad…”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Leave my baby sister alone to get grabbed up, just like that? You’re lucky you’re clever.”

She clenched her teeth when her jaw threatened to quiver. She could ignore the collateral damage from her decisions all she liked, but it always had the same result: as much as she tried to present herself otherwise, she would be a burden on those she left behind. It was the opposite of what she wanted to achieve. Was it really so hard to just give in?

“You’re very much wrong, Miss Houndberry,” Dís said, the only one sitting properly in her chair among them. “We would have lost a significant part of our presence in the Blue Mountains without you. We most certainly would’ve been blindsided by Iren and, while I have very little doubt we could’ve held them off, it would have cost us more lives than I’d like to think. My brother is much less of an arse because of your attentiveness.”

“Hey,” Thorin hummed idly.

“And I still have two sons, and this kingdom still has its future king, because of you. And you better prepare yourself for me to hold that over you forever. I can’t explain to you the heartache you’ve spared me.”

Dwalin called for yet another toast, and Cori hid her blush in Thorin’s chest.

“Can you give me some pointers on how to get very important people to worship you?” Lizzy muttered without lifting her head or even opening her eyes. She received a laugh from around the room.

Thorin braced his arms and slid up just a little, calling for attention with the illusion of a bigger presence. Absolutely fascinated, the dwarf. “While we are on this appropriate and enjoyable topic, I feel I should draw attention to the foremost reason for our gathering tonight.”

No one moved except to raise their heads, but everyone was poised on the edges of their seats. They could guess. A few boasted grins already.

“It don’t imagine it would be a shock to any of you, less so to a select few, that I have asked for Cori’s hand. Long overdue, I’ve heard. But I haven’t been the one keeping you in suspense.”

“Oh, thanks.” Cori dug her elbow into his ribs.

He delicately kissed her cheek. “You all are still the most distinguished friends I have had the pleasure of knowing, and my family is everything to me. I wanted you all to hear it before the announcement. Cori has agreed to marry me.”

A jarring round of applause and uproar of hollers exploded from the lethargic group. Unsurprisingly, the biggest grins rested on Fíli and Kíli’s faces. Lizzy nearly crawled on top of both she and Thorin to pull her into a tight hug, reducing them both to a giggling mess.

She wondered absently, as the room fell back into the lazy tone from earlier, if her family in the Shire would have had a similar reaction to learning of her betrothal. It was easy to pretend she did not care. She wished she could be sure of their approval.

With the room quiet again and joy radiating in the air, Fíli piped up unobtrusively. “I, um…I really hate to steal the night from you two,” he said to the beaming couple, “but I planned an announcement myself before we gathered.” He grasped hands with his wife tucked securely under his other arm and smiled down at her. “Tira is with child.”

As if to challenge the previous celebration, this one bounced off the ceiling and circled all over the hall. It brought energy into each person, and a few sat up as if it would distribute better that way. Dís, who was seated on Fíli’s other side, tearfully reached over to them and pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks. Kíli beat everyone with his enthusiasm; he was just a few less bites of food away from circling the room like Bombur’s children as they fed off the excitement.

Cori flung herself off Thorin, leaving him to grunt painfully where her hand connected with his face, and threw her arms around Fíli’s neck. Her golden lad, a father. It did not seem possible. “Congrats,” she said, playfully tugging on a braid in his beard.

“Thank you, _namadith._ Actually, I suppose it’s aunt now.”

“No, no, no!” She hopped up. “I am too young to be a great-aunt! How would this even occur in any other circumstance?”

Thorin came up behind her, bestowing a kiss on Tira’s head and clasping Fíli’s shoulder. “It’s the most wonderful news. Congratulations. I’m proud of you, lad.”

Fíli radiated under the praise, looking a few seconds away from breaking down as Thorin pressed their foreheads together. A silent blessing on the future heir to Durin’s throne.

The celebration revived again with a few rounds of jovial music.

Midnight had come and gone by the time Cori and Thorin returned to their chambers. Through the darkness of the parlor absent of any lit candles, Thorin led her to their bedroom where the coals of the fire glowed brilliantly.

“How do you feel?” The rumble in her ear wanted a confirmation that their own revelry was not over yet. Cori, strength restored, fully intended to engage.

She turned around, mesmerized by the red glare on one side of his face, and slipped her arms around his neck. “I’ve never been happier.”

His smile, only slightly tinged with the prior suggestion, enjoyed her answer. “Even back home with the green hills and flowers and gentle rivers?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

He stole her breath with a stunning kiss and drew her closer to his heart. Her true home.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ENDINGS ALL AROUND!
> 
> NEXT PAGE FOR BIG CLOSING WORD ---->


	22. ***A/N: Loyalty of Readers

That's all, folks.

A big shoutout to all of you who dropped by every now and then, or left kudos, or left a simple word to tell me what you think of this wild horse that's been running away with me for almost 2 years. When I first created Cori back in March of 2017, I  _never_ would've imagined that she would have so many devoted fans. So many of you have been rooting for her since day 1. She truly is an incredible little hobbit. No matter how many characters I go through in my writing career from now until the day I write for the very last time, Cori will always hold a special place in my heart for pulling me out of a creative rut that almost made me stop writing. And you guys have been there to push me along the whole way. 

Thank you all so much! (;

As I warned at the end of TSOH, this story would not be as great as the first one, and that's the case for a few reasons. It's shorter, which doesn't really cut back on quality but it makes the story less in-depth and more in your face about its themes. The Service that you've read is the 3rd draft; this is the 1st of The Loyalty. I may one day go back and make another draft or 2 to make this just as interesting as its prequel, but as of now, I haven't given TLOH nearly as much attention as the 1st story. Some of you have praised it generously, and I thank you for the vote of confidence, but that doesn't erase the fact that, in my mind, there's still work that needs to be done to make an acceptable plot. Bear that in mind, and know that I'm aware of how rough it is.

Unfortunately, my journey with long-winded fanfics will be put on an indefinite hold. It's time for me to move onto my own original works now that I've got my mojo back. My family's been on my case about publishing a book, and I have a personal deadline to get at least one out before I graduate college (I have 3 more semesters left). About time I got started. My three big stories on here ("Twist the Knife," "The Service of Hobbits," and "The Loyalty of Hobbits") will stay put, just within reach for anyone who feels the need to visit Cori again.

The white shores aren't calling just yet, though.

Don't forget about "The Life of Hobbits," my collection of scenes and information about Cori's adventures. There will be scenes that took place in these stories that did not make it into the final cut, snippets of Cori and Thorin's married life and family, and a few extra things. These two aren't going anywhere just yet. Uploads will not be extremely regular since, like I said, I'll be working on other writing projects as well as another semester of school once January rolls around. But I've been looking forward to finally writing these things so, once I take a quick break to shake off the drag from this story (no matter how much you like writing something, you always have to walk away for a time), I'll get back to these two. They've got a pretty eventful life ahead of them.

I also might post small things that are Hobbit/LOTR related, or even delve into other fandoms, though nothing has been planned on the moment. Just waiting for a spark of inspiration.

I'm still on Tumblr (@niteowlnest) so if you want to drop by and chat, my messages and ask box are always open.

One last time. You are all the absolute best readers that have stuck with me despite my long absences and complete rewrites. I love you all, and wish you a safe and happy holidays and the best of luck in 2019. 

~The Nest


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